


Family, Duty, Honor and a Dragon Queen

by Wintercameandwent



Series: Family, Duty, Honor and a Dragon Queen [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aemon and not Aegon, Alternate Ending, Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, If Dany or Sansa could do no wrong then this is not the fic for you, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, King with 2 Queens, Multi, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Out of Character, Polygamy, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2020-07-30 20:24:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 154,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20103109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wintercameandwent/pseuds/Wintercameandwent
Summary: What if Jon didn't kill Dany? What if Jon acknowledge he loved Sansa? What if Jon decided to pick the parts of his heritage that made sense to him?  What if Jon ascended to the Iron Thorne and reclaimed his birthright? What if there was a way to try and make Jonsa and Jonerys fans happy?





	1. Jon

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome Readers,
> 
> So I didn't hate the end of Season 8. I predicted a lot of it accurately, so I think that helped when I actually had to see it play out on the screen. After the series finale, I was left feeling...okay. Underwhelmed, I guess. Yes I know this ending is GRRM vision and I accept that. However, there could have been so many other ways to end the series though, as is evident by all the great post-season 8 stories out there. I have enjoyed reading as many as I can. 
> 
> I've decided to take a stab at my own ending. I've never written a fanfic before, so bare that in mind as you're reading. I'd like to say this would be a short fic, but I already have 6 chapters written. I don't think I have it in me to make it overly long either. So we'll see what number we end up with. 
> 
> If you like what you've read, then post a comment and let me know. If you have questions or need clarification, then drop me a line. I'm happy to respond. However, if you hate it and feel a rise of violent anger at the words on your screen, then just move on...without leaving a comment. Let's keep it civil folks.
> 
> This is an un-beta'd story, so forgive me in advance for my potential faux pas.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing...except this computer :)

They stand on the top of the steps of the Red Keep. Jon Snow watches as Daenerys Targaryen, not Dany, perhaps he will never think of her as his Dany again. She speaks to the horde of Dothraki and Unsullied who have chosen her as their rightful ruler. He is still reeling from the sense of betrayal, loss, and anger he feels. With the swarm of competing emotions flooding his mind, he’s aware that he is partly responsible for his current state. He is also aware that the other half of this equation stands before him passionately speaking in Valyrian to her subjects, of what she speaks to he could only guess, but whatever it is he can sense its troublesome. 

Jon breathes deeply, all he can taste is the scent of burning flesh in the back of his throat. He tries to quell the nausea that arises. Jon attempts to steady his emotion, as he endeavors to make sense of the impossible. His head slightly rises when he hears her utter a word what sounded familiar. After witnessing the destruction of the capital, and seeing the hundreds of bloody and burned bodies strewn around the streets of Kings Landing, even as the sky darkens and ash falls around him, nothing jolted him back to the present until he heard Daenerys say “Winterfell”. Calm calculated dread paired with violent anger smoldered from a small ember in his soul into an all-consuming inferno. Dread for what or for whom he was not yet sure. 

When Tyrion walks towards the Queen, Jon can see him and Daenerys share a heated exchange of words, but they are speaking quietly and he’s too far away to hear what they are saying to each other. As Tyrion tosses the pin that signaled him as the Hand of the Queen, he witnesses the rupture between a ruler and their most loyal subject. It is a break he does not think could be repaired. He understands this because in this moment both he and Tyrion are the same man. A blind man deceived and heartsick, who has without intent...become shamed and dishonorable by association with the Dragon Queen. 

As Tyrion was taken away by the unsullied, Daenerys turns to look at Jon. They both are unsure of each other, of where they stand, of how they move past “this”, of what to say. From his perspective, she looks like the conqueror she truly was meant to be…or perhaps in hindsight, always was. Beautiful, strong, and authoritative. There is still some semblance of the woman who commanded his heart, even though his heart also yearned simultaneously for another. Unlike Tyrion, Jon has the added weight of watching the woman he loves become the worst possible version of herself. A version he could never have foreseen. While others could see it and cautioned him to proceed on a different course than the one he was determined to follow. Sam, Jaime Lannister, Arya, and the most vocal of all, Sansa. Gods, Sansa! How the gods must be having the cruelest of japes at the expense of the innocents of Kings Landing…or perhaps at the expense of a northern fool. Jon just couldn’t bring himself to consider this outcome. This creature standing before him is not the woman he chose to love, the one who made him see that she could be the just queen Westeros needed. He believed in her and willingly chose to give his kingdom and countrymen to her realm because he trusted in her vision for the future. Her sacrifice to save him and the people of Westeros, at great expense to herself, spoke to his sense of honor and duty. These are traits he prizes above all else. Jon relinquished it all in the face of the ire and fierce opposition he knew he’d encountered from the people of the North, and in spite of the personal betrayal to Sansa, and the faith she had placed in him in the face of her own personal fears. 

The new Queen of Westeros turns away from him, and walks back to the keep, with her ever-faithful unsullied guards following her graceful movements. Even though Jon knew that while he found love and a purpose with Daenerys by her side, he willingly turned away and tried to close the door on feelings he had towards another, that were best left...unacknowledged. 

He questions why he silenced his intuition in order to follow another. In the end it gained him and the realm nothing, but resulted in a loss so great. Was Ygritte correct? Was he truly a man that “knows nothing”? Was it too late to listen to Sansa advice? Could he be smarter than his uncle or his cousin? Could he fix this?


	2. Daenerys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a chance to see Daenerys' feelings after walking away from Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Daenery's POV. I will alternate the POVs of Jon, Dany, and Sansa.
> 
> I'm bracing for the hate I am sure will come, but unfortunate it is a necessary evil.
> 
> While she was not my favorite character, I did enjoy her storyline. Even though I wasn't shocked or saddened by her actions at the end. I wish we had a better understanding of her thought process, aside from the "she just went crazy." For a character so wonderfully complex, I don't think it was that simple. 
> 
> Moving on...enjoy the next chapter, and remember I own nothing!!!!

As Daenerys Targaryen walks up the broken steps of the Red Keep in search of the throne room built by her ancestors, she surveys the damage to the castle. She eyes the collapsed ceilings, crushed walls, broken steps. She sees a group of Dothraki standing before an enormous wall of fallen debris. The men bring a palace servant to her. The Dothraki believe that the man knows where the throne room is located. Daenerys looks at the man crouching down below her feet. His fear was palpable.

In that moment, in the presence of a weaker person she remembers that she is Mhysa and that people, like this man, were the reason she reclaimed her birthright. For a moment she thought of Jon and of his not-so-secret truth. No, she thought, this was still her birthright, not Jon’s. It had to be hers, right. She began to drift from that idea and softened, for just a moment, at the notion that if she joined her destiny to Jon’s truth, then maybe together they could forge a new Targaryen dynasty. Perhaps she was looking at Jon’s revelation all wrong. Maybe this was their destiny. These were her people too. Jon will see that in time. If all hope was not lost, she could make Jon remember his love for her. She could remind him of all the nights on the ship, in between bouts of intense lovemaking, when they talked about their dream for a better Westeros. After a transition period, all of Westeros would see this vision for a better world as well. Nothing could stop it. Not even the Lady of Winterfell. Sparing this man would be a start.

Daenerys lowered herself to meet the man’s eyes, “Good Sir, I am not here to harm you. My people will not harm you.” She waited until the man met her eyes. “Are you able to tell us where we may find the throne room?” The man took a deep breath and he slowly pointed toward the wall of fallen debris. Daenerys sighs as her gaze follows his pointed finger. He whispers, “It’s beyond the stairs, My Queen.” Daenerys looks back sharply at the man. He looks down in and trembles in terror not sure of what he did to offend the woman. The Dragon Queen is was unprepared, for a moment, to hear one of her people from Westeros freely call her Queen. She realizes the man misunderstood her reaction. In a gentle voice she says, “Can you help my men gather the materials they will need to open up this blockade? I promise you are in safe hands. You have nothing to fear.” The man nods in response. Daenerys calls to one of her unsullied, who has learned the common tongue, to serve a translator between the servant and the group responsible for getting the wall removed. The servant slowly follows the unsullied away from her.

As she begins to walk back down the stairs, she sees a hallway that extends from the landing. Daenerys begins to investigate where this hallway will lead. She begins to explore the home she had only heard about in tales Viserys would tell. It’s so much larger than she could have imagined. Daenerys touches the walls as she walks by, feeling the different textures. She wonders if these walls could speak, what would they say. The girl in her remembers the longing for home and for family. She gently places a hand on the small secret growing under her cloak. She smiles as she thinks to herself it won’t be long now until this is a secret no longer. Sadly, the woman in her has seen too much of the world, and knows that she brought back magic for a righteous purpose. Maybe the purpose is this child? Possibly it’s to restore a peaceful and prosperous Targaryen rule, with Jon by her side, and away from the North. Away from her…

Daenerys' mind races back to Jon and expression she saw on his face. She had previously spoken to Turgo Nudho, and knows that Jon was angry about her decision to kill all the Lannister soldiers. As the lone known seed from an overthrown dynasty, she understands all too well how anyone left alive loyal to the old ways takes a chance that they can be overthrown by a small mercy. Before seeing his face, she was confident that she could make him see that we can’t hide behind small mercies, if we want to make a new world no one has ever envisioned before. Now she isn’t so sure that he would be open to hearing her. To seeing that she was still his Dany. She was the woman who was resolute and steadfast, but who could be reasonable, compassionate, and self-sacrificing. Being a leader meant she had to make unpopular and, in this instance, brutal decisions for the good of everyone.

When she was a girl she used to play with these wooden blocks. She built the Red Keep over and over again, imagining what it must have looked like. During these times she discovered she could always rebuild it. She also discovered that to build something new you had to undo what was there before. As a woman she knows it’s not the destruction that defines you, but rather it is how you are able to rebuild and what you are able fashion after everything has fallen apart. She is also aware enough to know that if you destroy something too much, then you have nothing to build with.

Daenerys hopes that in her effort to bring in a new world, she hasn’t wrecked her and Jon to a point where rebuilding is not an option.


	3. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's see where Sansa is coming from...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The writer's made some very poor choices over the last 2 seasons, and naming Jon, Aegon, was a big one. Its so glaringly bad that I am just going to take some more artistic license and substitute Jon's Targaryen name with Aemon. 
> 
> Remember to keep it civil...a little discord doesn't hurt, but disrespect does. 
> 
> Also, I own nothing...blah, blah, blah, blah....

Sansa Stark gradually walks down the trail that leads her to the Godswoods, down the well-travelled path that takes her to Bran’s faithful companion, the weirwood tree. It’s not lost on her that the brother she once knew no longer resided in the young man seated before the tree-lined face. In all fairness the sister he once knew no longer lived inside her either. The people before the tree were shaped by their experiences, their losses, their small gains, and the sacrifices made along the way in order to survive. Never are they to be what they once were. Nor should they look too hard at their separate past in order to determine the path of their future. The blood of the Starks endured despite the cost to their young selves. They survived the worst and made it through. They made it home…she, Arya, Bran, and…Jon.

  
As a point of recent self-preservation, Sansa has made a concerted effort to limit her thought about Jon Snow or is it Aemon Targaryen…oh no, never an Aemon, always her Jon. If she’s honest with herself it is a pointless endeavor. She wasn’t able to accomplish this when he left for Dragonstone, nor when he brought back his lover and presented her as their savior, or when he put himself in direct danger by admitting to sharing his parentage with the Dragon Queen, and most definitely not when he walked away from her for the last time as he planned to readily march south to honor his pledge to his Queen and his love.

  
A single raven flew away from a low hanging branch as Sansa sat on a boulder nearest her brother. They sat in companionable silence. Sansa closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She slowly exhales and repeated the process until she could feel her body begin to relax…marginally. It’s been a long while since she had time to herself. It seems since Jon's battle to reclaim Winterfell and the North back from the Bolton’s, all her days and nights were filled with planning and organizing people and materials in preparation for the war against the Night King.

  
Now she spends her days either focusing the efforts to rebuild Winterfell and parts of Winter town, or she works with Sam on finding additional options for gathering and securing more meats, furs, and grains. The food stores need to be replenished after so much was used. This weighs heavily on her mind. If we starve, if we can’t stay warm, then we will die. She just can’t dwell on that possibility.

  
Sansa knew Jon saw the importance of beating the Night King as paramount, and so he went to secure allies while leaving the North in her hands. But she couldn’t imagine the scale he was bringing to Winterfell. He never gave her warning for the vast number of people he was bringing home, or rather when he did notify her it was already too late. While she organized and planned well, she couldn’t make the crop yield more food than it already provided. The mouths were too plentiful and the stores just not enough. Yes, Jon could see the big picture, but he left her to figure out the details to make life work for those he was trying to save. Yes, he was the King, but he left no plan or counsel. He left her with the unspoken understanding that she would do her duty to the North. He never seemed to understand how his lack of recognition for her efforts slighted her, and how her efforts reflected positively on him as king.

  
If she thinks about it, she can imagine the last time she was in the Godswoods. She was with her siblings and Jon. After the initial shock upon hearing that he was not her half-brother, she remembers the selfish gratitude that she felt. She knew that she loved Jon as a woman and not as a sister should, but their past and their present didn’t lend themselves to a sibling rapport. They left home as unfamiliar children, and reunited as a man and a woman who fought together for a shared goal and together, stone by stone, began to build a shared life for themselves and their people. He with the ability to unite people for a cause and her with the practical plan.

  
The old Sansa would have been disgusted by the sinful idea of having carnal feelings for her half-brother, but the Sansa in the present knew not to be deceived by the idea of a quality young man from a proper house. She knew a bad heart could lie inside a man born on the right side of the sheets, and a good man could lie in the heart of a bastard...or a half-brother. The time for worrying about what the world expected her to do had passed. Doing what was expected and accepted didn’t guarantee her love, happiness, or security. So, she gave into her depraved feelings. She wanted a good man. She wanted Jon.

  
She knew Jon felt the same, but he refused to act on those desires citing that it would be dishonorable. In that moment she thought the Gods might have honored her father’s last promise when he said, “Listen to me. When you’re old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who’s worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. This match with Joffrey was a terrible mistake. That boy is no Prince Aemon, you must believe me.” Here was Jon Snow and HE was a prince named Aemon. This present Sansa cares not for this new title that comes with his new identity. She knows who HE is, and she loves who HE is. She loved him when he was naught but a bastard with no hereditary title, but rather a title that was hard-earned and bestowed upon by the people of the North.

It was all a cruel jest of course. By now she should know there are no Gods. It’s this awareness that allows her to freely love Jon as she does. Jon confesses that he is conflicted by how this news has impacted him and his lady love. She remembers how he continued to look in her eyes as he spoke of feelings that he thought should be contained because it was the honorable thing to do, but he didn’t know if it was possible to contain something as powerful as fire. He didn’t know if he even wanted to try. “I think in time I can move past it all you know. She makes feel…warm. I don’t think I could go back to a life without that. I know that she is my family by blood, but it doesn’t affect me as much as knowing you could no longer see me as the honorable man Ned Stark raised me to be.” Upon hearing his declaration, Arya hugged Jon fiercely and told him he would always be her brother and that she would always love him, even if she may not always agree with his choices. Bran reminds Jon that we all have a duty to serve a purpose, and perhaps Jon should follow his instincts on this matter. Sansa smiled sadly, nodding her insincere support, and felt the last piece of the stupid little girl who believed in the Gods die as she turned away and walked back to Winterfell.

The memory fades as she heard insistent cawing of ravens. Sansa opens her eyes to see the weirwood tree surrounded by these frenzied birds. An ominous feeling weighs down on her shoulders and slips inside her chest to gently squeeze her heart. She looks over at her brother, and see him staring directly at her. “It is done. Daenerys has conquered Kings Landing with fire and blood. The Capital of old is gone and has been laid to waste.” Sansa grabs at Brandon’s hands as she asks, “What? How?” She pauses in her surprise. Jon and Arya…“what about Jon and Arya?”

In a rare instance of comfort, Bran gathers Sansa’s hands in his own, he pulls her off the rock she was seated on as she drops to her knees in front of him. He stares at her as though he is asking a question only her eyes can answer. “Jon and Arya are fine. Jon and Arya have a plan. It will succeed. But you must brace yourself Sansa for the Dragonwolf has awoken, and while he is unhappy with Daenerys for the moment, he will not forsake his love for the Dragon Queen.”

Sansa is shaken by Bran’s revelation. “I understand.” she whispers as tears rise up making it impossible to see. She shouldn’t feel hurt by this admission. Jon’s actions have told her since he returned from Dragonstone that his heart had changed towards her. Bran touches a hand to her chin to raise her eyes to meet his. “No Sansa. I don’t think you do. You didn’t let me finish. He will not forsake his love for the Dragon Queen, nor will he relinquish you. Soon the Dragonwolf will be on his way and he will reclaim the North, and with it the Lady of Winterfell.”


	4. Jon II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been very busy with the start of the school year, so I apologize for taking a bit longer to post the next chapter. 
> 
> This time we go back to Jon's POV. I feel like the next few chapters transition from canon to non-canon and so this might stir up some very strong feelings. I understand that, I really do. I am guilty of having those feelings myself, especially when they change my favorite characters or ships. What I don't do is lash out at the writers (no matter how much I might disagree), because it's their story. So with that said, keep the comments clean and productive. If you continue to enjoy the story, then thanks for sticking with me on this journey. If you decide its not for you, then that's okay too...thanks for stopping by :)
> 
> Disclaimer...I promise that I am not GRRM...I own nothing...

Jon made his way out of the city walls in search for Arya. Tyrion’s words still echoed through his head. 

“And your sisters? Do you see them bending the knee?”

He could hear his faint response to this challenge, “My sisters’ will be loyal to the throne.”

Tyrion points a determine gaze in his direction, “Why do you think Sansa told me the truth about you? Because she doesn’t want Dany to be queen.”

“SHE DOESN’T GET TO CHOOSE!” Jon bellows. He knows what Tyrion is asking of him, but it’s not as simple as he makes it seem. Jon admits to himself that he loves her still. He concedes that he loves both Daenerys and Sansa. He loves his family.

“No, but you do. And you have to choose now.”

It’s in that moment, as he shares a long look with Tyrion Lannister, he hears Maester Aemon words, “Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Winter is almost upon us. Kill the boy and let the man be born.” 

Outside of the city gates, where the King’s Road meets with forest, he finds Arya, Ser Davos, and most of his fellow Northmen. All are leery as to what will happen now, and they are unsure of their leader, the man they followed as their once king. Jon looks out over the men and he sees the range of emotions he’s trying to reconcile, within himself, etched onto the faces of his men. He did this. Their madness, their trauma, their sense of dishonor, their shame is a direct consequence of his inability to be direct with himself about who he is and what he wants. He no longer has time to self-soothe his fragile ego, and in all fairness his inability to confront his truths is what has led to this aftermath.

All his life he has served others and followed their wishes and plans, but many times he did so at the cost of pushing down his natural instinct to pursue his own course of action. His most honorable acts resulted in following his intuition. As Lord Commander, he knew that brokering peace with the Freefolk and offering them refuge south of the wall was the right thing to do, even if it led to his death. As King in the North, he knew that in order to defeat the Night King they required more resources than they had. Realistically, they needed Daenerys and what her army had to offer. It’s why he chose to go South, and he went after those reserves with relentless ambition, because he knew in doing so that it was the right approach for saving the living. At the time it appeared as if offering the North seemed like a worthy sacrifice. 

Jon never counted on falling in love with Daenerys. He didn’t think he could, not with Sansa ever-present in his heart for so long. He realizes now that in order to save his people, his pack, his family, and his heart he needs to balance his wolf and his dragon. Once again the feeling of calm calculated dread paired with violent anger courses through him, and he recognizes these parts of himself. They feel familiar, like his armour. It’s something he can wear, use, and remove when it is no longer needed. So, this is what it feels like when the Wolf and the Dragon are awake at the same time. 

Jon walks over to Arya and Ser Davos, he gestures for them to follow him, away from his men. They pause at a tree so heavy with leaves that the canopy creates a private space for them to speak freely. Davos immediately asks about the Dragon Queen. Arya stares at her brother, awaiting a response. Jon spies a raven quietly perched on a sturdy branch. He shook his head to clear it before he begins. “She arrested Tyrion and plans to have him executed for assisting in Jaime Lannister’s escape from the Unsullied camp. It looks like the damage, from some of the Keep’s walls, has prevented her from entering the throne room. It’s only a matter of time before she sits on that damn seat. She and I...well, we...haven’t spoken.” There is a long pause while Arya and Davos digest this information. 

Jon paces before his companions, “What has happened here goes beyond the overthrowing Cersei. At some point, it stopped being about installing a capable leader onto the throne. Regardless of my feelings about the South, I helped to bring this level of chaos to a kingdom that didn’t ask for it. I want to make amends for my part. I want to see us out of this mess, if I can. And if it will help, I am willing to acknowledge my birthright.” He pauses, releasing a shaky breath. “I really do believe in Daenerys’ vision of a better Westeros. I know you see what has happened, and question how I could still say this. We could be a better world. All her ideas are still decent and at their core, honorable. This wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Regrettably, in this aftermath, she and I now have a glaring difference of opinions on how to achieve it. Before I see her, we must decide how to proceed before she and I have words.” Jon looks intensely at Arya and then smiles as he looks upwards towards the raven. “I have an idea, but yours and Bran’s talents will either make or break this plan.”

Jon asks if Arya was willing to take one more face, if needed, and if Bran could warg into a dragon. Arya without hesitation asks, “Will doing so keep our family safe?”

“Yes.”

“Then how may I serve you, my King.” 

Jon looks up at the raven for its response. “CAW!”

With both sides of himself at peace, Jon proceeds to share his proposal for appropriating Kings Landing from Daenerys and her army.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be Daenerys' POV. The chapter is written. I will try to proof read it after a day or 2. I hope to post in on either Friday evening/Saturday morning. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter...and thanks for the support.


	5. Daenerys II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany are finally in the throne room...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember that each chapter comes from a specific character's POV, so their interpretation of another characters motivations are colored by their own perspective. It doesn't always mean the other character feels the way the POV character thinks they feel. This isn't just a caveat for only this chapter, but rather a general suggestion to keep in mind as you read each POV. 
> 
> As always, let us keep some level of respect toward the writer and fellow reviewers in the comment section. Even if you passionately disagree with the story or another person's comment, it doesn't give us license to be ugly toward each other...remember its fanfiction!
> 
> Happy reading...and I own nothing!

It took most of the day, but the Dothraki were able to remove the last obstacle standing between Daenerys and the throne. She stands underneath the enormous archway, at the end of a great hall. Taking a deep breath and finding her resolve, she begins the long-awaited walk to the Iron Throne. For something so close, the walk feels like the longest part of her journey to reclaiming her family legacy. The height of the pillars catches her eyes. She can imagine young dragons of old flying through the room. As she begins her climb up the stairs to her seat, she can’t help but notice all the ash resting upon the chair, or could it be snow. If she were honest with herself, at first glance she would admit to not being able to tell the difference, but upon further inspection she can see that the throne is well covered in both. Her eyes dart everywhere trying to take in every small detail of the chair. She slowly reaches out her left hand, and for a moment she’s thrusted back to the vision from the House of the Undying, and wonders if she will be able to touch it. She released a breath, she didn’t know she was holding, once her small delicate hand made contact with the arm of the seat. All her emotions flooded to the surface. All her feelings of fear, anger, pride, and joy warred with each other in that instant. She did it, she thought. I made it back home. 

Daenerys turns back to see the stretch of distance she had walked, from the door to the throne, and she spies Jon staring at her. She is too caught up in her victory to raise her guard around him. As the only other Targaryen, Dany wants to share this moment with him. She wants Jon to understand that what happened today was a necessary evil, and that this accomplishment is a victory for all Targaryens. Like Kings Landing and the Red Keep, the Targaryen’s can and will rebuild. They will restore their family, their home, and continue the legacy of ruling Westeros as their ancestors did before them. 

Jon begins a slow and wary walk towards her. To put his mind at ease, she decides to tell him a story from when she was a little girl. Daenerys smiles as she begins to share the tale Viserys used to tell her about the thousand swords used to make Aegon’s throne, and how she could imagine a throne so high that you could see the soles of Aegon’s feet. Jon’s response alerted her immediately to her folly. Clearly he was madder than she expected. Her smile froze, as she tried to explain her reasoning behind her decision to dispatch any remain men of the Lannister army. Jon is unmoved. His anguish at seeing the casualties in Kings Landing is bleeding through. It hurts her to see the strong man she loves, a man with a kind and gentle heart, distraught by this recent battle. She wants to shrink back from his ire, but she knows what is right. She knows she did the right thing. 

Dany tries to explain to Jon that she made an effort to broker peace with Cersei, and all that has happened was because of Cersei, not because of her. He must be able to see that. Jon ask her to show an act of redemption by pardoning Tyrion. She is taken aback by the delivery of his suggestion. She is trying to reign in her own dismay and anger. Now is the time for her to explain to Jon about the dangers of little mercies. As his conscious fights a battle across his face, she walks to him and uses these words to remind him of a conversation they shared, after an intimate moment in the cave. “It’s not easy to see something that’s never before. A good world.” Dany leans into Jon. His body solid and sure, even if his heart and his mind are questioning. She can tell he remembers that moment just as she does. He looks at her pleadingly, “How do you know it’ll be good?”

It’s in that moment that Dany realizes that she can give Jon the surety to move past his current state. She rests her hand over his heart. The heart she would rest her head upon. The heart she knows beats for her, and skips when she declares her love for him. She looks into his eyes and confidently says, “Because I know what’s good...and so do you.” When Jon asks her about other people who think they are right, she coolly declares, “They don’t get to choose.” 

Daenerys notices a light flicker in Jon’s eyes. He holds her head and gazes longingly at her. She rushes to tell him how they were destined to be together, ever since he thought himself a bastard and she was a little girl who couldn’t count to 20. He slides one hand down to her hip, bringing her closer to him. She thinks to herself, Yes. He understands. We are not lost to each other. He holds her tightly as he reminds her of his pledge, “You are my Queen. Now and always.” Their lips find each other, their lips placing a hidden stamp of promise on their flesh. Each pouring out and into each other all the affection they have. This passion, this connection, it's more than she could have ever hoped for. As Jon pulls away from her with her full bottom lip caught gently in his teeth. He smiles at her, and nods. 

Jon takes a step back from Dany and offers her his hand. They begin to walk away from the throne and out into the hall. Dany looks up at him, suddenly feeling shy and nothing like the sovereign she is. 

Once in the hall, Jon turns to her with a grave face, and he informs her that his original purpose was to speak to her on another matter. He tells her that when he arrived to the Red Keep, he was approached her by one of her Unsullied commanders. The man told Jon that Cersei had survived the attack on Kings Landing. Apparently Cersei, with the aid of the remaining Golden Company, wants to treat with Daenerys in the Dragon Pit. 

Daenerys freezes in mid-step. The Dragon that was sleeping just moments ago is awake and ready to finish the task of destroying this enemy. There will be no treating. No parley. No surrender. Daenerys looks at Jon, “Well I guess it would be rude to keep her waiting, now wouldn’t it.” A ghost of a smile hovers over Jon’s lips, “I thought you would say that. I sent word with one of my men to go back to camp, and to notify Davos to head to the Pit. When I saw Grey Worm, I told him to expect the Northern forces. He was dismissive, but I’m confident he heard me. Your Master of War continued to mobilize your forces as I entered the keep. Looks like everyone is on their way there.” 

She turns to where she hears Drogon, as the dragon makes its way up to the landing along the hallway. More than most of the wall is gone, making space for her beloved child. She climbs aboard Drogon’s back and waits for Jon to join her. He looks unsure about riding her bonded dragon, but she reminds him. “We break the wheel together.” 

Daenerys watches as Jon shows a steely determination as he mounts her much-loved companion. He places his hands across her waist, and in that moment he can feel the small swell of their child nestled in her womb. “Dany!” She turns to look at him. His face was a combination of shock and awe and fear. She rests her hands on his, and smiles. “Jon, you are the second man to make me believe that miracles can happen. We have much to speak about, my Love. But before we can do so, let us close this chapter of our story.” He pulls her back to lay flush against his chest. He kisses the side of her neck and gentle nuzzles his head there. He whispers, his voice thick with unspoken emotion, “Yes, Love. Let us close this chapter because a new one looms in our future.”

With a gentle command, Drogon takes flight towards the Dragon Pit. Daenerys takes a moment to close her eyes and release all her worries about losing Jon in one deep breath. She looks ahead with a renewed sense in her purpose, knowing that by her side will be the man who steadfastly loves her, faults and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was a bit nervous to write and post this chapter. For me the whole episode felt just wrong...on so many levels. Which I'd rather not get into (its still a sore point...lol). I know for many people it still brings up feelings of anger and fury. I get it. I really do. 
> 
> I am already a few chapters out, so Sansa's POV is next. My goal is to have it ready to post no later than Monday...
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this story (and who are sticking with it :P), and for the respectful comments you have sent my way. 
> 
> Until next time...


	6. Sansa II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is left alone with her thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to all of you who have continued with this story. I am touched by the amount of support I've received. 
> 
> Lets keep the comments clean and constructive...and remember, I own nothing!

The solar of the Lords chambers is overly hot due to the raging fire currently roaring in the fire place. Sansa sits by the window feeling cold, hollow, and confused. While Bran seemed less cryptic than usual, she couldn’t make herself believe that his last words to her were direct and forthright in her interpretation. Her thoughts were disjointed in her mind. I don’t understand. Would Jon be willing to claim his birthright? But he gave the North away to his Queen, without any discussion with her or his bannermen. I think a large part of him didn’t want to be king...didn’t want the weight of it. Now he was coming back to reclaim it. And while he still loved Daenerys, he was returning... for her. What does this mean and how does she truly feel about it? 

After regaining their home, she and the houses of the North swore they would never again bend to another Southern ruler. Well Jon is of the North. Most thought of him as their king still, even though he bent the knee to the Dragon Queen. She knows after the initial shock and a standard period of grumbling; the Northern Lords will be satisfied to remain part of the 7 Kingdoms. But what of the Dragon Queen. Is Jon’s will stronger than hers? She bent him to her will once before, when she forced his hand...bend or let your people die. When he left with their men before they were able to recover from the Long Night, because she refused to wait any longer and demanded he go now? What is to stop her from bending him again? What prevents Daenerys from destroying the North...and anyone who stands against her? And what does it mean that Jon is coming for her...she refuses to be a pawn in another man’s game. Is he coming because he sees her as the key to the North? Her heart breaks at the idea that Jon is using her to play the game. Where was this strategy when he was on Dragonstone? Does he come with romantic intent? Will he finally take her as a lover? Is she to be his mistress while he marries his...Queen? Will he silently claim her and once again leave her to rule in his stead, consequently ruining her chances at moving on with another while leaving her waiting for scraps of his time? Would she tolerate that behavior from him...or from herself?

There is a discreet knock at her door. She turns to see Brienne and Sam in the doorway. “My Lady, Sam Tarly would like a word.” Sansa numbly looks at them. It takes her a moment t remembers her courtesies. Smiling warmly as a host should, she thanks Brienne and gestures for Sam to take a seat. “Hello, Sam. How is your family? I am sorry I have not stopped by to see Gilly and Little Sam. I’ve been a bit distracted lately. Nevertheless, please accept and extend my apologies.” Sam’s eyes widen as he shakes his head, “No. She understands. We all do. There is no need for an apology.” 

There is a long awkward silence as they both think about what to say next. They both begin to speak at the same time. “Is there...” “Bran has asked...” They both stop and quietly laugh at this overlapping exchange. “Please continue, Lady Sansa.” “No, it’s not necessary, I was going to ask if there was anything you needed. It sounds like you were about to tell me.” Sam blushes slightly, “Bran has asked me to help him when he helps Jon execute his plan. The thing is, I will need someone to help me, and since Gilly is pretty far along in her pregnancy I can’t really ask her.” Sansa glances towards the fire for a moment, needing the space to try and measure her words before speaking, she will help...for her siblings and to help the people of the North, and her allies in the Eryie, to avoid this potential fate. Returning her regard back to Sam, she asks “What do you need of me? How can I help you and Bran?”

Sam lets out a sigh of relief as he explains how Brandon will warg into Drogon. She learns that Bran had been practicing his warging abilities on dragons for two moons now, since he learned of Viserion. He has only attempted it in small periods, but this current task will require him to stay under a longer than he has before. It puts a strain on his body that he doesn’t often feel when warging into lesser creatures. Sansa should not be surprised by this. The levels of recklessness Bran seemed to exhibit around his ability, since he’s returned home, concerns her. To warg into a dragon...that didn’t strike her as safe or prudent. He keeps so many secrets, that brother of hers, yet at a whim he can see all of hers. 

Sam asks that Sansa serve as a caregiver of sorts, and explains to her what kinds of task she may be asked to do. It is no more than she has done for the injured and dying after the battle of Winterfell. All tasks well within her skill set. As she stands to dismiss Sam, she remembers to ask him when and where she should go to him and her brother. “This early evening, my Lady. We meet an hour before sundown, in the Godswood. Sansa nods her head as she watches Sam exit her solar. 

So, Jon wants to control Daenerys’ dragon. Is this clever, my King? What of Bran? What risk to him from this endeavor? Could he truly control a dragon? What is Jon’s end? This is madness. Will he destroy what’s left of Kings Landing to destroy...her? Will he make Drogon disappear while fighting her army against his own? How can Jon possibly think Daenerys would want to stay with him should she lose, her kingdom or her last dragon, at the hands of her lover’s betrayal? Would he fight to recapture her love, in spite of the fact, that Sansa has wanted and loved him far longer than the Dragon Queen has? 

The last thought is the final crack in her wall that releases the floodgates of tears, she has held at bay, since she told Tyrion of Jon’s parentage. From the time when she made a last-minute decision to intentionally betray the man she loves, in order to try and save him and the realm from a woman who struggled to self-regulate and temper her most basic impulses. Her body quivers violently as she tries to breathe through her vicious sobbing. It is almost like her body is forcing her to purge all the hurt and resentment she feels towards Jon. Her heart feels like it has completed shattered into the tiniest of shards, and the cold of the northern winter has crept in and frozen her heart in this ruined state. As she stared unseeingly into the fire she cries, “Why her? Why her? It is in that moment that Sansa steels her resolve to be a dutiful sister, dependable leader as Paramount and Wardeness of the North, and a courteous subject of King Jon’s realm, and she will be only that until she can find a way to be that no more. She thinks her heart is too damage to influence her into being anything else.

A knock shocks her back to the present. She hears Brienne call out that she should be making her way to the Godswood or risk being tardy. Sansa looks around. She didn’t realize how much time she spent crying. “Just a minute, Brienne. I will be ready shortly.” Sansa rushes to a table where she proceeds to rinse her face and fix her hair. She dons her cloak, and checks again to see if she looks presentable. As she stares at her reflection, she noticed that she does look like the Lady of Winter—a title given to her by a few of the petty and callous lords and ladies in the South. It was a title she once thought to be carelessly wounding—a woman cold, detached, and unfeeling. Sansa opens the door and steps out into the halls, walking towards the Godswood proudly bearing the title Lady of Winter as a conciliation prize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter marks a turning point in how Sansa begins to see herself. 
> 
> Next up, we have Jon. I am already bracing myself for the reactions :P
> 
> I'll try to put up the next chapter by Wednesday or Thursday...


	7. Jon III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon continues with his plan...even though he's been thrown by the news of Daenerys' pregnancy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will admit Jon's plan is flawed...but many of Jon's plans are...yet he still seems to squeak by alive...with more people willing to follow him...lol.
> 
> Let's remember to be kind, and if that is too hard then keep comments respectful. If that is impossible, then move on...silently :)
> 
> Love the support. I own nothing...

In light of his recent discovery of Daenerys condition, he still thinks his plan will work. A child, he thinks, as he tightens his grasp around Daenerys’ waist. A child, a bastard. Of all the oaths he has broken, this one might be the one that hurts the most. Discovering that he himself wasn’t truly illegitimate didn’t wash away the years of cruel puns and thoughtless words he had endured during his childhood...all because they thought him a bastard. 

Drogon flies swiftly over the capital making the destruction seem so far removed. He knows the truth of it. There is no amount of distance that will erase what has happened, but perhaps his Queen might be right, and they can rebuild something better. Not because her actions were just, but rather, Jon knows that once you are at the lowest point you can stand, there is no other option but to move, to grow, to change. 

This is how he feels about the person in his arms as well. He struggles with merging the woman he grew to love with the woman capable of such ruin. What he does recognize is that he still loves her, despite her faults. She will be seen as a monster, but perhaps she is destined to be his, and he believes she can change. The worry of whether he can protect her in the aftermath weighs heavily on his mind. He wonders if he can guard her against her own blind arrogance, and from others who will seek vengeance. Jon knows Dany loves him, but he is unsure of Queen Daenerys feelings for him. He is uncertain of which of her disposition’s cares for him more. In the throne room he saw both those women staring back at him. He only hopes that Dany’s love for him is stronger than the Queen’s loathing. She will see this next step as nothing but another betrayal. It must happen though. In no uncertain terms, no matter how much he loves her, appeasing her is not worth sacrificing the lives of millions. Only time will tell if his duplicity was worth the price he will have to pay.

Up ahead Jon see the raised walls of the Dragon Pit. The tremendous power of Daenerys army is just as intimidating to see from above as it is to witness from down below. Ordinarily this view would alarm him, but in this moment all he sees is the first part of his scheme coming together. Seems as though Arya was able to procure what she needed to make the scene beneath him a reality. 

While a child to her, Jon has a healthy respect with a dose of sensible trepidation for this stunning creature. With a command of thought Drogon yields to the desires of his dragon-rider. He gets a glimpse of the side of her face, and he sees the small soft curve of her lips, Jon can see that she is thinking fondly of her beast as it follows her silent order. Jon thinks of Rhaegal, and it saddens him to know that his dragon familiar is gone, and no longer will he experience a solitary flight on another magical creature. Little does she know; this may be the last edict her familiar will follow for a time. 

For a creature so large, Jon marvels at how a dragon can be graceful and precise in their movements. The dragon perches itself on top of a colosseum wall. Jon and Daenerys descend from the dragon’s back and on to firmer ground. Daenerys turns to Jon. “It seems as though Torgo Nudho has wasted no time getting our army ready. He is most deserving of the honor Master of War” She smiles ruefully. Where is Cersei? I could not see her position during flight.” She looks over to Jon. “Where you able to see anything?”

Jon looks away from Daenerys, as he smiles and gently shakes his head. Now is the time. He should feel guiltier about this, but at the moment he just can’t bring myself to. This plan can go one of two ways; they’ll all die or they’ll all live. A sense of ambivalence creeps up on him. So much of my life I’ve been ashamed at times for my lack of remorse, for my callous thoughts, about politicians and politics. Now he sees it was his dragon peeking through, demanding to be noticed. 

“Jon. Did you hear me?” Daenerys ask in a firm, yet uncertain voice. Jon thinks Dany senses something amiss. 

Jon raises his eyes to hers. He knows what she must see. Dark grey eyes devoid of all emotion. Many of his enemies have seen it in battle, but he’s never bestowed on someone dearests to him. As Jon continues to stare blankly at Daenerys, he can tell when she begins to realize that not all is what it seems in this moment. The light that glimmers in her eyes, when in the throes of an impending battle, slowly extinguishes from her eyes. He can see those wide orbs fade from a vibrant lavender that reminded him of flowers, which used to grow along the path of the Kings Road near Winterfell, to irises devoid of color.

“There was no news from Cersei, was there. What is the meaning of this Jon? What are you doing? I thought you understood and agreed with my reasons for taking Kings Landing in the manner that I did.” She scoffs and shakes her head in disbelief, “I love you, Jon, but...” her voice breaks. She takes a steading breath before she continues, the dragon in her rising to the surface. “But what do you think you will accomplish here. This could only result in a deadly folly on your end. I don’t want you to do this. You gave me your word to follow me as your queen, that means following all my decisions, regardless if you approve of them. I appeal to you Jon. It’s not too late to stop this. I don’t want to explain to my child why their father isn’t there to raise them. Please don’t choose to leave me. You promised you’d never leave me.”

Jon grabs Daenerys shoulders and pulls her body flush against his. “You’re right. I don’t want to die today and I don’t want to leave you. I’m doing this so that we will still have a world to raise our child in. I know you have a vision of a better world, Dany, but this is not how to go about it. I can’t be idle while you destroy our homeland, this dream, and yourself. This is not all you are. I know it’s not.” 

In a voice devoid of warmth, she retorts, “How do you propose to stop me? I’ve my army and they have been the loyalist of subjects...they love me, but more importantly, I have Drogon. What do you have Jon? A few of thousand Northmen?”

Daenerys turns away from him and looks out into the crowd. She is about to speak when he wraps is arms around her. Holding her and their child close. He whispers quietly into her right ear. “You are mistaken, my Queen, I am the one who purposely brought your men here, and I am the one with the dragon.” He feels Daenerys still as she looks into the white eyes of her beloved Drogon. “Now you have a choice to make, as a queen, and as a Mhysa. Will you choose to save your loyalist of men by sending them back to Meereen or the Great Grass Sea, or will you selfishly sacrifice their lives for naught...” 

Daenerys sees the Northern solders surround the tops of the colosseum walls armed with bows and arrows. “I see my foolhardiness now. My bending the knee was a faulty decision. Not yours but mine. When we found out the truth, as the last of your family, you should have embraced my birthright instead of demanding I silence it. I told you I would relinquish my claim, and I meant it, but now you have forced my hand.” He nuzzles his nose against the side of her head. “So, my Queen...and make no mistake, you are MY QUEEN, don’t fool yourself into thinking that my intent towards your men is an act. How did you say it,... ah, yes, I will take back what is mine with...fire and blood?”

The air is ripe with tension, and Jon isn’t sure how much longer Bran can control Drogon. He can feel the dragon’s desire to rebel against the violation of its consciousness. The ruthlessness that once shown in Jon eyes dies away; his wolf tells him that he should slowly step away from Daenerys. Yes, she may be cornered, and she is a creature that can be ruled by her emotions and that makes her unpredictable. He thinks he can tell how she will respond to this, but in all truthfulness can’t really say he knows. He wants her decision to be her own.

Daenerys turns to him. Tears spilling over long lashes, staining her cheeks. “This is not fair. This is just as much her fault. She moved the pieces and I played that hand I was dealt.” 

Jon waits for her to finish, unsure of who “she” is.

She’s turns towards her dragon, gasping from breath that seems to be unable to attain. Almost like she is trying to will her dragon to remain calm. “Are you doing this because I spoke to the army about Winterfell bending the knee? Did you do this to save the realm or did you do this because you love her?”

In that moment Jon knew exact who the “she” was, and unlike before, when he heard this similar worded question, he had an answer he wasn’t ashamed to say out loud. “That not quite right is it. This is not all her fault. A wise man one told me that, ‘The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes...and if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die.’ What you did down there goes beyond that. Sansa did not make you do it. She does have things she must answer for, but the annihilation of the capital is not one of them.”

Jon cautiously walks back towards Daenerys, while not an overly tall man, she does have to look up when he enters her space. “But to answer your last question, I know you don’t have any reason to have faith in my word right now. I acknowledge my part in your distrust. But I beseech you to find a way to have enough faith to recognize the truth in my words, when I say I did it for both. Though you may not believe it, I did it for my family...” he cradles her face in his hands as he stares intensely, willing her to let go of her arrogance and jealousy... “and that includes you too Dany.”

“I knew you wanted her. By the Gods, you still want her...”

Jon sardonically laughs, “Aye. I guess my latent Targaryen can admit to wanting you and Sansa. I would never abuse you by keep you against your will. You both would have a choice as to whether you want this to work. Her choice shouldn’t be your concern though. If you and I are together, then we are together. But always know that regardless of your choice, you would still be treasured, even if you walked away. You are the mother of my child, but your army and your dragon...for now, they cannot stay. Not after all of this. So, I’ll ask you for your decision.”

Daenerys has a contemplative expression. “If I surrendered...peacefully, then what happens next.”

Jon internally debates how much he should tell her. “I have...allies...that I trust to make sure your army will safely depart within the turn of the next moon. The Northmen and any survivors will work towards cleaning up the Capital...well as much as one can in this instance. The goal is to get the remaining power in Westeros to convene a great council to determine how to go forward...in a new Westeros. You and I will leave for the North. We will be North for a while. You are not safe in the South, my Love. I can’t protect you here. There are...resources in my homeland that I...we need, and from there together we can try to make a plan to rebuild.”

There is a protracted silence between the two. Jon can feel the restless energy of the army below, the trepidation of the Northman on the wall, and the internal battle waging inside of this fierce creature before him. As the sun sets and is swallowed by the sea, so does Daenerys’ internal battle ends. Jon tries to appeal to the part of her that see herself as the Breaker of Chains, and asks, “What do you really want Dany? Do you want to be a queen or do you want to break the wheel? What is more important to you?

“Alright, Jon. I will...agree to this.” She turns back to him, and with a stoic expression and a bitterly cold voice, she continues, “The Kingdom of Westeros now belongs to you, your Grace.”

This decision, he knows from personal experience, is not an easy one for any Ruler to make. He carefully tries to embrace her, not sure of how she will respond to his touch in the aftermath of this encounter. She initially holds herself rigidly against him, but her body begin to change, until she was returning the embrace as she quietly sobbed into his armor. Jon raises his hand to cup her face. He takes in her current state, this act of selflessness she displays in the face of treachery and disappointments. This is the Dany he knows. This is the queen he chose to follow. The woman he will return this kingdom to...when she is ready. Infinitely grateful that she still exists, he bends his head to capture her soft lips with his own.

Jon accepts that Daenerys is not bending, and all is not forgiven. An ear-splitting roar from Drogon has everyone falling to their knees, all except Dany. The dragon looks to her and takes flight away from the pit and over the sea, where it releases an endless torrent of fire into the boundless waters. Watching in astonishment, he wonders if the extinguishing of Drogon’s rage was purely for itself or was there a healthy dose in the beast rage for its mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it seems like Dany gave up too easily, but there are circumstances that are leading her to make decisions that to others might seem like she's giving up. That's not Dany...but in order to change she has to do something different. Backing down would be different for her. When you think Daenerys Targaryen you don't think of someone who is passive. I always think she does her best thinking when her back is against the wall, but that approach won't work for her this time...now that KL is in ruins, along with her dreams. 
> 
> Next up we see Daenerys POV about the day and the moments leading up to it...and her perception of what went wrong and why. The beginning of a more introspective Dany to come.


	8. Daenerys III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into Daenerys's headspace...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am touched by the kudos, and the positive comments. I even appreciate the comments that have a difference of opinion...as long as its shared in a respectful manner. I haven't received many unkind/hurtful comments in my inbox, but today I received a pretty harsh...dare I say, nasty, comment. I think people need to learn that not every thought needs to be shared. If you don't like the story, then don't read it. Don't waste your time. Go find a story that you would enjoy better. That's okay. I don't care if you do that. I do care that you're hurtful towards me. That just makes you a troll or a jerk...same, same in my book. Learn how to either have constructive discourse, or keep silent. Seriously learn it. Its not like your comment will go through without my approval...and if I see your name again, I just will delete your comment without reading it. So do yourself a favor...don't waste our time. 
> 
> Next person who forgets or doesn't attempt to be respectful, will have the following chapters dedicated...just to them. So if you really hate this story, I doubt you want to be connected to it...in print.
> 
> Remember peeps...keep it respectful. If you're not sure if you can be...then don't send a comment. 
> 
> Before I step off my soapbox, I own nothing....

The journey to Dragonstone was fraught with tension and silent resentment, both from the humans and from her dragon-child. During their exchange in the Dragon Pit, Daenerys could feel the pain and bewilderment radiating off of Drogon. She could only define Drogon’s feelings as violent, chaotic, uncontrollable terror, with the blind need to attack. She knows Drogon’s distress impacted her greatly and more than fueled her decision to order her armies back to Meereen. Being torn between all her children, those she birthed, those she created, and those who chose her...her dragons, her babe, and her people made for a conflicted decision. In the end, she knew Jon wouldn’t hurt her and their child, and that he would try to keep her safe in Westeros. With the Stark name, perhaps he could keep them safe in the North. She knows without her army or her dragon she is limited in her ability to physically protect herself. In all honesty, she isn’t even sure she could send Drogon away even if she truly desired it...which she doesn’t. Seems as though he’s found a way to take that decision out of her hands. 

The child complicates their relationship. She knows the pains of growing up without her parents, and doesn’t know if the dragon in her has it to deny her child both of theirs. Especially when there is still love between them, even if those feelings are muddled in the moment. After arriving to the keep, very little was said between them. Jon escorted her to her chambers before heading to speak with some of his men, who had remained on Dragonstone during the siege of Kings Landing. He thought it best to set sail after a night of rest. After all that had happened today, how he thought she could rest was preposterous. Currently she was in her War Room looking out over the balcony to the dark waters she knew to be there. Her mind was racing to make sense of how wrong everything went today. 

She, Daenerys “Stormborn” Targaryen, could not have anticipated this betrayal coming. Life experience taught her how to read people. She knew to be weary of Varys, and cautions around Tyrion for she was unsure about the permanence of their supposed allegiances. She was smart enough to see their value and utilize them to further her intentions, but she always knew there could be a time when they would have to part ways. She sensed immediately that Sansa was a threat. Little did she know she was fighting a battle for more than just the rights to the North. She was fighting a battle for the love of the same man. Being a Targaryen who thought she was to marry her own brother, she had little quarrel with the idea that Jon and Sansa could hold romantic affections for each other. Nevertheless, she fought a battle she thought she won by all accounts. He slept with me, not Sansa. He showed me outward affection, not Sansa though. He publicly sided with me to leave the North shortly after the battle against the Night King, no he did not regard Sansa in this matter. He marched his army down South for me against the wishes of Sansa. Varys even told her he had heard from one of his little Northern birds, that when Jon spoke to Sansa in her solar upon his return to Winterfell, he defended his choice to bend the knee saying she would be a good queen. 

She walks out of the chamber and slowly makes her way to the throne room. The fires have kept the room relatively warm. She knows that outside its colder now, but the dragon fire in her blood runs hot. It makes it difficult to feel the cold. What’s making her blood run hotter than usual is the thought of that Wolf Bitch. She can’t understand how Jon won’t see Sansa’s part in today’s events. Dany warned him that Sansa would use the news of his parentage as a tool to hurt them, to hurt her quest to claim the Iron Throne. A throne before today he swore he didn’t want. Sansa launched her arrow right into the heart of her base, with such precision, and caused such damage between her and her Advisors. If she stopped for a minute to look at this tactic objectively, and could separate that she was the beneficiary of this mess, she could begrudgingly admit Sansa played her hand well. She could almost respect it...almost.

Daenerys stops before her chair, where she sat when she first met Jon Snow, and gently sits down. She runs her hands through her unkept hair, and then over her face. Her inhales are deep and her exhales are long. She can picture the last conversation she had in this room with Tyrion and Torgo Nudho. Last night’s eve seems so far past. She stares into the very spot where Tyrion spoke to her about stopping the attack on Kings Landing. “The people who live there they’re not your enemies. They’re innocent like the ones you liberated in Meereen.” She thought differently and told him so. “They’re afraid. Anyone who resist Cersei will see their family butchered. You can’t expect them to be heroes. They’re hostages.” Yes, they were in a tyrant’s grip through no fault of her own. “What does it matter whose fault it is. Thousands of children will die if the city burns.” Daenerys pauses in her thinking. The children. It’s quite unfair how the innocent always pays the heaviest price for others hubris. She thinks of Missandei and her innocence. She thinks of Cersei’s plan of using loved ones and not soldiers as tools to destroy her opponents. Pushing ahead she declares that Cersei is good at using her enemies’ weaknesses against them. She thinks our mercy is weak. “I beg you my Queen.” Daenerys thinks of the unborn child in her womb. She wants to eradicate the possibility of her child or any other children being held in the grips of an oppressor. This propels her to tell Tyrion that the true mercy is to the future generations. She informs her unsullied commander to prepare his troops to sail for the Northern armies. “Cersei’s followers will abandon her, if they know the war is lost. Give them that chance. If the city surrenders they will ring the bells and raise the gates. Please if you hear them ringing the bells call off the attack.” She thinks about his request. The desperation in his voice. She reluctantly sees the value of his words. Her tired eyes meet the raw ones of her last friend, and she nods her acquiesces to Tyrion’s request. If he’s right, then she can still show the people that the true danger resides in the Red Keep. Perhaps not all is as lost as she thought. 

A lone tear falls down as she thinks about the looks of terror aimed not only at her dragon, but mainly at her. She sees the Red Keep before her, and remembers the child within her. These people will never accept her. She can see it in their eyes. The don’t see that Cersei is the worst alternative. They will try to kill her and her babe. It was hard to hear over the rapid beating of her heart and ragged breaths, but she heard them...the bells. They were ringing faintly until the chimes rung louder and louder. She realized that her actions in the Reach, and Cersei’s lies about her, have closed the door to these people considering her idea of a better realm. They won’t accept her. Perhaps she was right all along. Maybe the mercy of protecting future generations will be enough to take everyone off this wheel. The cycle needs to end. For a moment she questions if she can continue with this plan. No. This is the right way. When Aegon and his sister-wives took Westeros, they had opposition, but in time they made it prosper under their reign. She is of their blood, and she can do the same. With her eyes on the prize, she fortifies her resolve and took off towards the Red Keep, while burning everything between her and the castle. 

Daenerys shuts her eyes. She feels so much anger towards so many people and for so many reasons. It creates this overwhelming need to scream. And so, she does. No longer able to contain her emotions, she releases a shriek that builds into an irate scream, and ends in a furious roar. Time passes but she has no sense of whether it moves quickly or slowly. Her voice is pained, and as she swallows she can taste the bitter tang of blood. 

She feels a change of energy in the room, and instantly knows if she were to open her eyes she will see the person partly responsible for her hurt. Gods does she hurt. After Khal Drogo she never thought she would let herself be that open to another. Darrio was fun. Jorah, while not romantic, was...safe. But Jon...he was an unexpected gift. He came to her looking for her help to save his people, but he initially refused to bend the knee. He didn’t try to leave. He stayed until he could convince her otherwise, and he did without first giving into her demand. This was not an easy feat considering she knows she wasn’t receptive to his request. 

Contrary to what others suggested, she wasn’t immediately attracted to Jon, though he is a beautiful man. What made her see him differently was his unfaltering drive to help his people avoid destruction at the hands of something otherworldly...something magical. Most people suspend the idea of magic, but as the Mother of Dragons, it was refreshing to see someone believe that good magic could be used to defeat bad magic. He saw her dragons as good, the Night King as bad. Most people never make it a point to see her children as something to be feared. Jon never cared about the rulership of men, he cared only for sustaining life for everyone. How can one not fall for a person such as this? 

Daenerys braces herself for what she will see once she opens her eyes. He stands at the bottom of the stairs, arms to the side, head straight, eyes staring back at her, with his lips shaped into their usual sad smile. She wishes she knew what he was thinking or feeling. He can seem so unreadable outside of the intimacy of the bedroom. She doesn’t mean the sex, though she’d be naïve to think that doesn’t help, but he becomes less guarded and more forthcoming when he speaks in privacy. Dany wonders if this room is private enough for him to speak freely now. 

After a long pause, he says, “I don’t need to imagine all the words you could use to define how you feel towards me. I’m sure I would use some of those words to describe you myself. I will not ask you for your forgiveness until you are ready to seek mine.” Daenerys widens her eyes at the spark of indignation she felt upon hearing his words. 

Her expression does not give him pause and he continues, as he slowly walks up the stairs. “I know you feel tremendous betrayal, and you are just within your rights to feel so. I did betray you, but know what my decision to do so didn’t come lightly. This wasn’t my long-term plan. I had every intention of following you, counseling you when needed, and supporting you because I believed that we need a world where we are kinder to each other. We need a world where honor and duty does not cancel out love. A place where everyone is free to live life on their terms without infringing on the rights of others to do so. This is what we spoke about. This is what you promised.” 

She thinks about his words; her indignation cools just a bit. He stops in front of her, and places a hand of each side of the chair’s arms, leaning into her space. He lowers his head to stare directly into her eyes. She can’t seem to make herself turn away. “When you spoke to me of taking the Capital, you did not tell me of the possibility that you might slaughter and burn thousands of innocents. Evidently you had spoken to your Unsullied and Dothraki because they were very clear that their actions were sanctioned on your orders. You know if you had told me then I would have challenged your plan, or left with my men back North, or died trying to stop you. You know me, Dany. You sit there in your anger and resentment, but you knew to what ends you were willing to go, and you didn’t entrust me with this information because you knew I couldn’t back it. You know me, and in that knowledge you kept your intentions silent, and took my honor. It was one of the few things that was mine, and you betrayed it by making me and the people who followed me, guilty by your actions.” 

He shakes his head in dismay as he pushes away from her, eyes never straying from hers. “What pains me the most is I turned away from Sansa, FROM MY FAMILY, from my friends, and from my people to follow you. I gave them my word that you were the just and humane ruler we needed. That word was tied to my honor. So, while my love for you colors what I feel in my heart and what stirs in my head, I myself am not ready to bestow forgiven to you.” Stunned by his final words, Dany stands up as Jon turns and walks back down the stairs and towards the door. 

“Jon. Stop.” He turns back to her. She walks towards him, as if she’s pulled by an invisible string. “I don’t know what to say to this. I admit I struggle with how to defend myself against your charge that I kept silent about specifics of what I would have to do, and my reasons for why I communicated my intent to my men but not to you.” All I can say is that it wasn’t my primary focus, but rather an alternate plan should our first one deemed itself untenable.”

Jon nods his head; a flicker of his sad smile reappears. “I understand the need for alternating plans in warfare, Dany. I know tactics can change and war is always fought in the present, no matter how well we plan. You speak of bringing about a world where we are free of tyrannical rule, but in doing so it seems as though free choice is replaced with required and unquestioned obedience. In partially disclosing your plans, you made a decision that took away my free will, something I have always given to you unreservedly when I decided to give you my kingdom. If required obedience without question is essential to this new world, then I am saddened to bring you more disappointment, because in my experience that expectation is the same belief all tyrants have. If that is all, Dany. I need to check on our preparations for our departure.”

Daenerys watches as he walks away. She is shamed by his words. The feeling brings her low and she gently falls onto the top step. If she could be honest with herself, then she could admit that she did keep this plan from him and the Northern contingent, and that her reasons for doing so were true. He trusted in her words, in her intent, and she deceived him by hiding what she was truly capable of doing because she knew he wouldn’t stand for it. She lied by omission because she thought she could persuade him to forgive her. When does thinking of how to act turns into manipulation? She certainly not thought herself capable of this kind of manipulation, at least not towards someone she loves. Gods how she hated Viserys for his ease with that particular trait. 

She never thought her ideas about the future were tyrannical in nature. People should have free choice, but how do you fight against centuries of ingrained policies of injustice. She saw how impossible it was for the people of Meereen. Between the Masters wanting to maintain their quality of life at the expense of the slaves, and the slaves who either coped with their history of abuse through vengeance or could not see themselves as more than a compliment to the Master’s household. It led to chaos and instability for the nation. In that moment she realizes, that perhaps there were more things she kept hidden from herself. Instability. Wasn’t it her job to provide a pattern of sustainable security? What good is a ruler who can’t keep their country stable unless it’s by force? Why didn’t she share her challenges and doubts about her rulership in Meereen with Jon? She told him everything else. Why conceal this? All these questions bled into one another and she begins to wonder if Jon, and perhaps Others, see parts of herself more accurately than she’d like to admit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I expect a lot of push back about Dany and how she responds in this chapter. Please try to remember, this story is not canon. She will act differently, and if you don't like how different she is, then this story isn't for you...because she's going to move away from her fire & blood motto. 
> 
> Sansa's POV is next...that chapter will continue from her arrival to the Godswood. Hopefully I can get that out Friday or Saturday. 
> 
> Thanks to those who are in for the long haul. :)


	9. Sansa III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa learns not all is as it seems in the Godswood, and she finds herself misled...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some great discussions, between readers, came out from the last chapter. I loved reading people's different perspectives. Some of it helps me shape future chapters...other don't but the POV's are no less valuable to read. 
> 
> Looks like perhaps my last note resonated with readers, because this week there weren't any disrespectful commenters to dedicate this story to...and that's a good thing. I appreciate it. 
> 
> Last note before I go, I own nothing...

Sansa was not sure of what she expected to see when she entered the Godswood, but candles, fire, symbols, and blood were not objects she could have foreseen. Before her is a large circle made of stones, dried branches and leaves, she can smell the scent of burning oil around them. Bran is laying down in front of the weeping face, bare-chested, on a fur cloak. His arms straight at his sides, and his inoperative legs placed an arm’s length apart from each other. His wrists and ankles enclosed in cuffs that has detailed sigils engraved onto them. There are small steel bowls that run along both sides of this body, from his shoulders to the soles of his feet. Each bowl spaced equal distance apart. It seems like the bowls has sigils carved into them as well. These were unfamiliar signs to her. Sansa could almost appreciate the attention to the symmetrical detailing in this presentation, if it were not for the fact that it looked like her brother was the main dish of this feast and not a fatty wild boar. As if the scene before her wasn’t distressing enough, the foulest part of it all were the fist-sized emblems carved into her brother’s chest and arms. These scars looked slightly older. She can see they were still healing, as if the wounds were recently reopened. Sansa’s own past has taught her well about scars. She recognizes when they are intentionally opened and renewed on one’s flesh.

Sansa looks at Sam in dismay. "What are you doing? This is madness! If you believe in the Gods, then you know that this is a sin! Both to the Old Gods and the New.” She speaks to him, knowing she won’t get through to her brother, but thinking she has a chance to talk sense into Sam. 

“Sam...” Using his name, being familiar. This wasn’t a time to be Lady and Crow. This was family. Her family, and she was scared for them. This she knew Sam could understand...and perhaps she could use his sense of family, to persuade him to help her end this foolishness before it was too late for everyone. “...we cannot do whatever it is Bran is proposing. I will be first to admit that I have lost my faith in the Gods a long time ago. I never saw their help when I prayed for my father to live, nor when I wanted to escape the attentions of Littlefinger, and certainly not when I found myself at the mercy of Ramsey Bolton. The circumstances of my life have since has taken my faith away. If you think the Gods are going to help you, then rest assure they will not, and all we will have done is sentenced my family to die harsher deaths than they deserve. Please don’t do this.” Sansa pleads. She can see the indecision on Sam’s face, “My La...Sansa, Jon expects help from Bran. If we don’t so this, then we can guarantee this won’t end well for them.” Sam sounding panicked.

Sansa was torn. She wasn’t sure how she could help her family in the South. Feeling her anger rise up against Jon, Arya, and Bran for keeping her out of their confidences, makes it harder for her to focus on what they could do. By now they must know she betrayed Jon's confidence. Is this the price I now must pay for that decision? The snow begins to gently fall, and the coldness of the flakes against her cheeks take her out of her head. The wind begins to pick up...her hair blowing gently away from her. She thinks her brother is going to catch a death in this weather. She begins to take off her cloak to cover him. Sansa believes she has a plan to stop this lunacy. Perhaps Bran could warg into a smaller animal to warn Jon and Arya not to continue with their reckless plans. She is just about to lay the cloak over her brother and share this idea when she hears Bran speak. “When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives." Sansa halts mid-step as though Bran slapped her clearly across her face. Imaginably she would have been less shocked by him if he actually had hit her. Bran continues, but she thinks this next declaration was more for Sam, than for her, but words she took to heart nevertheless. “Sometimes there is not a happy choice, only one less grievous than the others.” 

Sansa stares into Bran’s eyes, pleading for him to want to decide to end this on his own. “Sansa, if you don’t wish to help, then that is your choice. Whether you assist or not, I will try to do this. If we let this time pass away from us...another will not appear for way too long into the future. Hope and life, by then, will be lost for most.”

Torn is the simplest word to explain how she feels inside, but her brother looks anything but. He slowly lifts the right side of his lips into a smirk, dare she say endearing, for this new Bran. Sansa remembers she can’t always be the constant. If this is what her family wants to do, and they are willing to accept the consequences, then who is she to stop it. Wasn’t that what Jon kept doing to her? Every time he told her that Daenerys was now her queen and that she had to show her due subservience. He ignored her actions and her words. Sansa knew she would accept her consequences, should they arrive. She wished Jon could have respected that. It is not acceptable for one, to make another live, the truth they do not see for themselves. Thinking of taking her own advice, it’s clear to her that her family sees another truth from her own, and should they be successful, perhaps they will support her desire to live her new truth as well. 

Sansa nods to both Bran and Sam. “Alright. Now quickly tell me what you really plan to do, and how do you need my help.” Both men begin to explain that Bran, as a greenseer, was able to access how the original Valyrians controlled dragons before they learned to bond. They spoke of magic: symbols, chants, fire and blood. All of this was too much for Sansa to take in. Her senses were overloaded, and her mind turned towards disbelief. It seems as though Melissandre saw something from her Lord of Light, and procured the items she saw, before returning to Westeros. These items were believed to be used in rituals to control dragons. Fearful they would have been lost during the battle; it seems she left the items in Winter Town prior to arriving at Winterfell. She told Sandor Clegane where to find them, when they were together in the keep, after Arya ran off to find the Night King. The day after the battle, Clegane brought them to Bran, which is how they came to be here in the Godswood.

In an excitable voice that appears to present itself when he’s learned something new, she’s noted, Sam declares “The bowls and cuffs are made from Valyrian steel, imbued with dragon’s flesh and blood, these elements being the strongest forms of magic. The images were carved using a consecrated dragon-tooth blade, when the steel was in its pliable form. The emblems consecrated, by the most powerful Valyrian spell casters, bind the dragon’s free will...much like how a sorcerer would bind another sorcerer’s powers. The forms on Bran’s body call Drogon consciousness to his.” 

Bran continues the explanation, “I won’t be able to control the dragon in the typical sense. It’s not a true skinchanging. I will use the magic in my blood..." he pauses "as a greenseer and a warg, to persuade his will to attend to my feelings, so that he will not act on Daenerys emotions. Seemingly dragon’s held, through ritual, follow the person who binds them. In the beginning the relationship is contentious, but in time they do follow cooperatively, even if they are bonded to someone else. Over many binding ceremonies, the sigils carved on the rider can carry enough power to connect human and dragon without constant rituals. The Valyrians thought to bind a dragon that was already bonded to someone else was sacrilege, and therefore it was forbidden to do. It was an understanding all Valyrian dragon-riders adhered to.”

“Why would you do it then? If Drogon is bonded to Daenerys already...”

“Sansa, I do things that sometimes I should not. I took over Hodor, a man, and that was considered immoral. Dear Sister, just because something is forbidden, does not mean it is not possible. I did it because it was the right thing to do at the time. This is also one of those times.”

“Bran....” Sam quietly intrudes, alerting them that it is time to begin.

Sansa watches as Sam traces over the scars on her brother’s chest. Opening the wounds, blood catching on the blade of the dagger. He drops some of the blood into the small bowls and onto the unlit candles. Sam tells Sansa to do the same on the other side of Bran. She is shocked, everything inside her wants to run away, to not partake in this ritual. She sees the ritual dagger that Sam places in her hand, and while it’s goes against everything she feels inside of her, she begins to reopen the wounds on her brother’s arm. The snow is falling harder and the blowing wind feels rather harsh. 

“Make sure there is blood in all the bowls and on the candles. That is vital.” Bran speaks. His voice measured and calm. He shows no emotions, stoic during this ordeal. “Once you’ve checked the bowls, light the candles, both in the bowls and around the inner circle. As you light the candles you must repeat ‘Ñuhor līr gūrēnna’.” [1]

Both Sansa and Sam scramble to follow Bran’s instructions. Sansa, mindful not to disrupt the containers, begins to light the candles scattered all around her. In one bowl she sees the softening wax combine with the drops of blood, turning it red, as it pools in a well below the flame. She carefully uttering the words her brother asked her to say. It is in a language she’s never heard before. She wonders what she is asking for...for this seems almost like a prayer. Why does one pray? If not to ask for something. 

“Sansa, come sit above Bran. He will need to you hold his head during the ritual.”

Sansa hurriedly makes her way to where her brother has laid his head. She gently lowers herself to the ground and reaches out to touch him. It's only then does she notice, that his hair is matted to his scalp. She cautiously touches his unruly reddish-brown mane, and instantly she sees blood transfer to her fingertips. It seems the sigils are not only written on parts she can easily observe. Sansa stares down at Bran. He offers a reassuring smile. 

“Sam light the final circle. Remember the words. Always repeat the words. No matter what you see or what you feel. You must not stop the chant. That includes you Sansa. No matter what is asked of you during, never stop saying the words until the ritual is complete.”

Sansa is terrified. The winds are violently thrashing the branches against the trees. The snow is weaving a blanket over them, yet none of this has ceased the fires from burning around them. This does not make any sense to her. She knows what she sees should not be, and still the impossible still relents. Mayhap this plan will too. 

Sansa and Sam both begins to chant “Ñuhor līr gūrēnna....” Sam kneels by Bran’s feet. Sansa takes in the scene before her and Bran begins to look ahead, straight into the leaves of the weirwood. She does not think it is leaves he is seeing. As she looks towards Sam, she can see that he too is fearful of what is about to occur. They both stare at each other, their voices slowing down, the words being spoken at the same time. Sansa holding on to Sam’s presence as a stable force, keeping her grounded during this surreal moment. 

“Drogon māzigon maejot issa. Drogon rybagon issa call. Perzys kostagon sagon bound. Letagon aōha perzys naejot issa, Drogon.” A chant different from the one she’s been asked to speak rises from below her. Sansa watches as her brother’s lips form words from an unfamiliar language. It comes to her that he must be speaking Valyrian, since this is a spell about dragons. Bran’s voice begins to sound insistent in his utterances. Almost flustered. There seems to be an urgency that was missing before. Sansa is trying to see what has cause her brother to sound so desperate. 

“Sansa, Bran needs your help to finish the spell. Don’t stop speaking.” Sansa shoots her head in Sam’s direction, mouth open to ask ‘why?’, but it seems he knows her well enough to answer her unspoken question. Sansa continues to recite the mantra. “He told me there is magic in Stark blood, as far as Bran the Builder, and for this ritual he will need some of yours, should he weaken. He told me I’d know when to tell you. I think the time is now. He said all you needed to do is cut your palms, with these sigils, then you must place your hands on the marking on his head. I’m sorry, Sansa...he swore me not to tell unless I absolutely had to.” Sam resumes the repetitive hymn. 

Sansa quickly reaches over Bran to gather the dragon-toothed knife from Sam, seeing the tip coated in her brother’s drying blood. She looks at the emblem Sam directed her to inscribe, and with a deep breath she quickly slices her flesh, the red blood making it difficult to see that’s nothing is amiss. Each cut sends a cry to be pushed out of her body, as though to sooth her from the pain she feels at each cut. There is no time for thought. When her task is complete she sobs as she presses her hands to her brother’s head. She can feel the raised scars from wounds past. For a moment she wonders what marks reside under her brother’s beautiful hair. She damns her siblings, Jon and Sam for this. Was all this worth it Jon? A part of her soul that still remains pleads for Bran to survive this. 

The weather has gotten worse. Sansa can barely see before her, between the snow and the wind. But she holds her resolve, and returns to her pledge, recommitting to the words “Ñuhor līr gūrēnna.” Sansa doesn’t know if it was the blood paired with her words, but it called to her brother, for when he opened his eyes she did not see the milky whites she expected...no, this time Bran’s eyes were black and she could see there were flames inside his sightless orbs. He remains like this longer than she would ever prefer to witness.

Her terror rose exponentially, but thoughts of her own words returned to her “When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.” She held onto that refrain. Words spoken to her by her father so long ago. Willing them to be true. Refusing to lose anymore of her family to The Stranger, even though she may feel cross towards them, Sansa settles herself in for the long haul. She tells herself that she can do this, she can stand guard to protect and defend her brother and family, just when they need her most. I am strong. I am brave. I'm Sansa Stark of Winterfell. This is my home and you can't frighten me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was harder to write because it focuses less on Sansa and her feelings about Jon and Dany. It's meant to bring a little bit more clarity in how Bran could warg into Drogon, using Valyrian lore as the primary tool instead of just Bran's natural innate ability. Even with the ceremony described, Bran will have long term ramifications for this action.
> 
> I will be the first to say I am NOT fluent in Valyrian...not it any way, shape, or form...nor do I care to be, so I used these online translators instead.
> 
> If you want to know the translations of the chants...
> 
> [1] "Ñuhor līr gūrēnna" means “I will take what is mine.”   
http://www.makinggameofthrones.com/production-diary/2014/5/8/high-valyrian-101-learn-and-pronounce-common-phrases
> 
> [2] "Drogon māzigon maejot issa. Drogon rybagon issa call. Perzys kostagon sagon bound. Letagon aōha perzys naejot issa, Drogon." means "Drogon come to me. Drogon hear my call. Fire can be bound. Bind your fire to me, Drogon”  
https://funtranslations.com/valyrian
> 
> The next chapter takes us back to Jon. His POV should answer questions about his motivations. I know many people think he used Dany only to save the North and to become King, but that's not the case...at least its not my intent to have readers think he was calculated in that respect. Jon was not meant to come off as a PolJon...
> 
> Remember to be kind and respectful...I expect some difficulties coming my way after this chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	10. Jon IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and his plan...and other thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am posting this chapter a bit earlier than usual because I will be swamped with commitments this week. I will post Dany's chapter either Friday evening or Saturday morning. 
> 
> So, now we are back to Jon. This chapter is the longest (I think). There is a lot of reflection on previous scenes and past canon events that are reshaped, if you will, to the mindset of the Jon in this story. This has nothing to do with scripts or canon. It's just a reinterpretation of his feelings to fit this story. 
> 
> I appreciated the considerate dialogue that came with the last chapter. Let's continue to keep it that way. 
> 
> Love the kudos and the support.
> 
> Oh and before I forget, I own nothing...

Jon stands alone on the beach. It’s at the height of the witching hour, and he can feel himself releasing all his anger, shame, doubts, and insecurities, all to be swallowed by the darkness. These feelings are so strong they almost bring him to his knees and makes him want to lash out in a manner unbecoming to the man he always thought himself to be. To contain them and still survive appears unattainable, but to release them seems to be a dangerous alternative. 

As he reflects on the day, he is not sure what has shocked him the most. Was it Dany’s sacking of Kings Landing? Was it the lack of honor demonstrated by his countrymen? Was it that his plan worked and Dany didn’t call his bluff ? Was it that Dany is pregnant? The reality of these events have sent Jon reeling. 

He put his faith in his brother, but there was no guarantee that Bran would be successful. When Drogon was under Bran’s control Jon could feel the beast radiating its panic and confusion. It was a palpable feeling that vibrated around him and Dany. Since she is strongly bonded to her dragon, he believes she had to have felt it more acutely than he did. 

When Jon shared his plan with Arya and Davos, she had disclosed a conversation she had with Bran, and his experience as a warg slipping into Hodor. She spoke of the internal struggle that ultimately broke the gentle giants mind. This was to serve a warning to Jon, so that they were fully aware of the risk. Jon thought of Daenerys words...little mercies. Perhaps they continued to think alike. He thought if Drogon were to lose control in the Pit then maybe it best that they all died, leaving the survivors in Westeros to rebuild. The sacrifice of the few for the sake of the many. Little mercies. He’s eternally grateful to the Old Gods that Dany conceded...for now.

As for the pregnancy, Jon was not prepared for this. If he’s honest with himself, having this child with Dany is something he wants. He accepts that he loves her, even if he may not be happy with her at the moment. His mind goes back to their recent conversation. He knows she was deceived and betrayed by him, but these actions did not spring out of spite. The fact that her argument of his behavior, didn’t extend to a reflection of her own as a root cause for his conduct, frustrates him to the point of madness. The only action he ever took against her was to reveal he parentage to his family. He did so not as a subject being disloyal to their queen, but rather as a man making a decision his lover did not approve of. She confuses him at times. One moment she will tell him that she wants to be together as equals, to break the wheel, and yet makes demands of him as if he is her subject. Jon will not be one or the other with her. Without equity, they are nothing. 

Jon thinks about the rest of the plan and reflects upon the various moving parts. Once they were alone, Daenerys flew into a rage. Her anger a living thing ready to strike him dead where he stood. Her forgiveness, potentially unattainable. After expending all her vitriol for his supposed love and sacred honor, she stood in absolute silence. It still a marvel to him that she can go from a full range of volcanic emotions to complete stillness. When she offered him a sign to speak, he shared much of his plan with her. She asked plenty of questions, and he tried to be as honest with her as he could. Not wanting to mistreat her free will as she did his. 

Some time passes before she asked him why he hadn’t shared this plan with her before. Jon laughed and told her this was never a plan he envisioned, because he didn’t think he needed a strategy, to take the throne from her. She stared at him for a long while, then asked “Do you think this could work? Do you think I can fix this?” Jon shakes his head, “I think it’s a beginning at mending. The final product may not look the way you planned, but what is more important to you...being a queen everywhere you go or breaking the wheel.” She turns her head to look away from him, taking her bottom lip in between her teeth. Jon can recognize her tells. This one alerts him to her insecurity “I always thought you needed one to have the other. I don’t see how the wheel breaks without someone to direct it.” Jon nods, “Until my chance meeting with people North of the Wall, I couldn’t envision it either. There are other ways to govern.” Sensing she needed further credible confirmation he decided then to change their Northern destination from Winterfell to the Wall. 

In the end, she kept her word and told Grey Worm exactly what she needed to say to send her army to Meereen. While the man tried to persuade her of the dangers of sending her army away, she reminded him that she was still his Queen, and while she has great affection for his concern, she tells him she can’t rebuild if the might of her army is seen as a symbol of conquest...and after Kings Landing the people will be too fearful of her and the people who have come with her. This kind of rule, in hindsight, is not how she wants to reign. She reminds him that she still has Drogon, so she is never without means to escape, if need be, but she was confident that Westeros was hers with the continued assistance of the North, Yara Greyjoy, and Tyrion Lannister. Grey Worm was most unhappy about releasing the man, but did so immediately at his queen’s behest. When he returned with Tyrion, he asked Dany if he, and a few of his trusted men could remain with her. Dany looked over at him. He knew she lost so much, and she needed to feel the comforts of someone still loyal to her...other than her dragon. He discreetly nodded acceptance to her unspoken question. 

It was in the Keep that Jon and his allies, which consisted of Arya, Davos, and Tyrion, spoke with Daenerys about the actions need to bring the realm together. Grey Worm and his men stayed in the room, but remained silent. Unbeknownst to some in the chamber, Arya used her skills to gain access to Tyrion while he was remanded to his cell. Telling him if he wanted to live and to atone for his part in the devastation, he would follow along with Jon’s plan. When the time came he would say that things were still salvageable, that Westeros has seen too much war and as a result everyone’s forces were depleted. Which was the truth. Peaceful negotiations would prevail, Winter was still coming, and while not as long or as harsh as the Winter the Night King would have brought, the people are looking for ways to survive the season. They no longer have the resources to fight. He would encourage any remaining Houses to meet in a centralized location, in order to decide how to move forward in this new Westeros. Dany tasked Tyrion with gathering the remaining Lords and Ladies of Westeros to assemble in the Riverlands, in four moons time, before the heavy Winter arrived making it to difficult to travel. Jon tells Tyrion to inform the Lords that it is the desire of Queen Daenerys, to give them time to prepare their keeps and people for the upcoming Winter. What Dany wasn’t aware of was that Jon was leaving Arya behind to ensure the ravens sent persuades the recipients to attend the summit. He wouldn’t blame Tyrion for doing the opposite. However, Jon is willing to gamble that Tyrion’s guilt will steer him true. The man may still have pull with the Lannister name, and they needed all the help they could get. Jon also believes that Tyrion wants to see this new world too. 

Jon suggests that Davos, as a former Kings Landing inhabitant, remain to help with relocating the survivors out of Kings Landing. Davos suggest Rosby and spoke of a small castle and village currently without a Lord, and perhaps that might be a temporary solution. Arya offers Gendry’s assistance, as the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, to offer sanctuary since he too has a connection to the smallfolk, being that he was raised in Flea Bottom as well. 

Jon needed Grey Worm to remain and see the Unsullied and Dothraki off. He knew the man’s honor, however bruised and tarnished in the latest battle, would obey Daenerys’s command to send her army home. Jon braces himself for the commander’s reaction to his words. “Tyrion, you will need to bring Yara Greyjoy and any ships she may still have back to Kings Landing. Grey Worm, while Tyrion and Davos take on the responsibility of moving the people and working towards getting the remaining Houses to agree to the meeting in the Riverlands, someone needs to remain here to orchestrate the departure of the Queen’s army.”

The scathing look delivered by Grey Worm wasn’t unexpected. “I do as my Queen commands. Not you, Jon Snow”

“Jon is right. I trust no other to see our people safely on their way.” Daenerys reply surprised him. Clearly she is still willing to agree to this farce between them. “Jon and I will leave for Dragonstone and then we will head North until we return South for the summit.”

“But I stay with you, my Queen.” Jon can see the man wants to say more, but outside of a private space, he will not contradict her. His devotion to her won’t let him. Jon knows that feeling well. He learned a little too late that preserving the image of dutiful follower is another kind of determent. Never will he keep silent when he should speak...Queen or no. Oddly enough he always censured Sansa for her public criticisms of his choices. It shames him to know that it’s taken this exchange to help him see that Sansa wasn’t attacking him to weaken him, but rather to help him see all aspects of his plans...including its follies. Her approach a common sight among the Free Folk. He wonders why he couldn’t approve of this behavior from her, but easily accepted it from Tormund and his people. 

Jon is brought back to the present by Daenerys’s voice. “I command you to see our people off, and once you are done you and your remaining men will travel North, to me.” 

Davos tells the season soldier, “Once we move the people, we’ll be heading North as well. The sooner we can get that movin, the sooner we go. Getting the lords and ladies, well that’s all raven talk at this point, so no need for us to stay here, the Little Man could do that work anywhere. You’re more than welcome to travel with us.”

“Thank you, Ser Davos. My faithful friend, Turgo Nudho, and I appreciate your offer to guide him back to me.” Daenerys sends a small smile towards Davos, walking over to Grey Worm she takes his hand, “Turgo Nudho, the sooner you begin the sooner we will be reunited.” Jon watches carefully as the man sends his queen a subtle nod of acceptance.  
As of now, he has Bran monitoring Drogon location, Grey Worm sending Dany’s army back to Meereen, Tyrion assembling the remaining power in Westeros to the Riverlands, Davos relocating the survivors out of Kings Landing, leaving Arya to be his eyes and ears, and should it be deemed necessary she will use her unique talents to keep certain parties on task. He also leaves her to discover the names of the men who chose to leave their honor in the North, and to dispatch of them in the South...with the understanding that the “North Remembers...”

Jon’s mind returns back to his last conversation with Daenerys. Jon has always felt conflicted in the actions he has taken regarding securing Daenerys’s help to fight the Night King, but he has never felt conflicted in wanting her and falling in love with her. He fell in love with the woman, not just the queen, and he thinks she fell in love with the man, and not just the king. The politics of rulership made courting all the more complicated. The reveal of his parentage did not help matters. 

Jon has never been a man who knew how to process feelings too big to name. Bastards learn from an early age to toughen and harden themselves. If you dwell on emotions, they can be used to destroy you. They are fleeting and fickle things that a bastard learns early not to trust. When Jon learned that the man who raised him was not his father, but rather his uncle, he had no means to process that information. He replaced the man he thought was his father with a man that brought a kingdom to its knees because he would not do his duty. A man, married and grown, with a wife, people claimed he was deeply fond of, and young children. Rhaegar Targaryen. Just thinking his name makes Jon feel hostile. What kind of man courts a young foolish girl? He wonders what his mother was like. Everyone always spoke about the similarities Arya had to her, but he’s beginning to think that there were two side to Lyanna Stark, and his fath...uncle...had two daughters that were like her. Jon truly believed that Lyanna had to be similar to the fanciful Sansa he remembered, the Sansa that believed in knights, princes, damsels, and love. Even now Sansa calls the girl she once was...foolish...perhaps, just like his mother was. 

As the waves splash gently against the wall, he lets the sound of the sea break his continuous thoughts. His parents made a colossal mess when they abandoned doing what was right for doing what felt right. Jon sardonically laughs into the night sky. He realizes how alike he is to people he’s never met. He deserted his duty when he gave up the North...Dany committed to coming North without his bending the knee. When he bent the knee, he gave into what felt right, instead of doing what was right...which was to go back to the North as their King, with their northern independence unbroken. 

If he looks deeper, his shame for loving Sansa, when he thought she was his sister, made the situation worse. It is her that he always felt conflicted loving. He compounded one mistake with another when told Sansa via raven that he surrendered the North. The right thing to do was to talk to her, but he did what felt right instead, and sent her a letter signed The Warden of Winterfell. If he would have been honest with Sansa and told her he was tired to ruling, and returned her birthright to her before making a decision he couldn’t withdraw, then mayhap things could have turned out differently.

Jon hates that Daenerys is enraged with him and his actions. He never intended to be the kind of man whose loyalty flickers like a candle in a drafty room. He was still in the South when he bent the knee, and from the moment he did he found it easy to follow her, but when he returned North he was faced with the consequences of deserting his crown, it all seemed too much. 

The worst was the look on Sansa’s face when she realized the true nature of his relationship with Daenerys. Jon was the last man Sansa would have thought to break the fragile trust she had in herself to love again, yet he was that man. Compounding one layer of hurt with another by asking her to accept the woman who she thought usurped her place in his heart. Though it not true, it appeared as so and he never contracted her thoughts on the matter. 

It embarrasses him to know that she had been right. She was able to see the opposite side of the pendulum that was Daenerys Targaryen, and he dismissed her insights as being rooted in conceit, jealousy, and pretentiousness. Never did he consider merit in her words. He has to ask himself, why... 

When he decided to go to Dragonstone, she begged him not to go, she thought leaving to be a bad idea. Yet he left, and when he did, he left her with the responsibility to setting Winterfell to order, preparing the North with weapons and armor for the largest war they had ever experienced, fortifying the castles walls weakened by the battle against House Bolton, organizing and arranging for food stores to be as well stocked in preparation for one of the longest Winter seen in centuries, providing shelter and supplies to the smallfolk, serving as an intermediary for his argumentative bannermen and a diplomatic ambassador ensuring the guaranteed support of the Eyrie and the Free Folk, while under the watchful eyes of Littlefinger and two newly reunited siblings. All this was demanded of her when I decided to leave, and she did it, all without any word or support or encouragement from me. I left my fledgling kingdom in her hands, and she made it thrive under the direst situations, and my gesture of appreciation was to give it to another. In hindsight, maybe he did deserve her betrayal of his secret...an eye for an eye, perhaps. As flawed as they are, he knows that she will defend her decision to betray him. 

The heart is a mercurial thing. What is it in him that can do what he feels is right for Daenerys, but not Sansa? In the end it all failed, so why did he hold on so tightly to duty and honor when he was selective about being dutiful and honorable. He was capable of relinquishing both those parts of himself with Ygritte, with Mance Rayder, and many of his Brothers of the Nights Watch. 

Perhaps going North could be more than a new beginning for Westeros. Knowing that he no longer cares about how closely tied he is by blood to these women, he can now begin to balance his intentions more equitably, and in hopes they might reach an accord of their own.

Jon climbs off the wall and begins the long walk up to the castle. He accepts his contribution to his own downfall, even though it is difficult to eat this much crow, and recognized the pain his actions have caused people he cares for. He begins to wonder how long Daenerys will consent to follow him. He questions if he’ll have the chance to be a father. Should Daenerys decide at some point to leave Westeros, where would this leave them? He refuses to abandon his child. How will Sansa react to this new development? He could understand if she wanted nothing to do with him, but it’s time for them to hash out the anger and hurt they have both kept inside. He knows it’s unfair to hope that Sansa and Daenerys have a little bit more patience for him as he navigates how to express his feelings, but he knows these women are worth the uncomfortable depths this journey will take him on. 

Finally, at the entrance of the keep a blur of silver and white catches his eyes. He focuses on making sense of the impression in the void, and realizes its Daenerys. She running rapidly into the distance, looking pale and wide-eyed. He begins to give chase, wondering where she would be going at his hour. It takes him a minute, but he knows where, or rather whom she is running to. 

When he catches up to her he finds her out of breath. She can’t seem to stop herself from touching Drogon all over. There are tears and laughter and the source of it comes from his Queen. For a moment Jon begins to wonder if Daenerys’s lapse of madness didn’t end in Kings Landing, but then he thinks Daenerys looks...happy. Very unlike the woman he left in the throne room. He doesn’t understand what he is seeing, but he knows it has given Daenerys great joy. He moves away to stand at a respectful distance, giving her privacy, to continue her silent conversation with her treasured dragon. Daenerys sits down on the grass as Drogon nuzzles her against her body. Jon follows suit, but is still confused by what he sees. 

It is dawn, and the sun begins the task of lighten the sky. The rest of the night Jon witnessed great affection being exchanged between Dany and her dragon, until the sun rose, and Daenerys stepped away from Drogon. 

Drogon looked right at Jon, as though he were giving him a warning, before the beast would ultimately burn him alive. But to his surprise the dragon bestowed what seemed to be a kiss to the side of Daenerys head, and with a powerful roar took off into the sky and away from Dragonstone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any guesses on what was going on with Dany at the end? Why and where do you think Drogon flew off to? I'm curious to see your predictions. 
> 
> A big thank you for taking the time to read this story. 
> 
> Until next time...


	11. Daenerys IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys has a dream or a vision of something to come, and she makes her intentions clear with Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised...if you were a disrespectful commenter, then the next chapter would be dedicated to you...and not in a good way. The unlucky winner of this gift is Marcus128, who by their post might never see this...but nevertheless keeping my word is pleasing to me. 
> 
> Please keep the comments RESPECTFUL. If you can't, THEN DON'T LEAVE A COMMENT! 
> 
> If you can't handle behaving in a mature fashion, then don't continue. That is the power you have, which doesn't involve trying to hurt someone else. In other words, don't be a tool.
> 
> Now that that's done. A big shout out to samking1234 and Grace for their predictions!
> 
> A big thank you to everyone who has read this story and liked it enough to give it a Kudos!
> 
> Hope this chapter continues to deliver myownlilbubble.
> 
> Before we continue, I own nothing...

Daenerys’s body began to shut down. Sleep came to her, not because she sought it out, but the emotions of the day wrung her to a point of exhaustion, and her flesh betrayed her until unconsciousness took over. Another deception. This time it was her body. 

She finds herself in that state where oblivion is on the horizon and the mind ceases to toil. It’s in this stage that she follows her subconscious to the start of a frequently had dream. The dream begins the same. She stands at a precipice. If she looks down, she sees nothing but darkness. The air around her is cool against her skin, almost cold. There is frost on the ground, and the only sounds to be heard are the rustling of small forested creatures...that are searching for last minute bits of food, to horde within their dwellings. A bloodcurdling scream nearly fells her. The cries familiar, but she is unable to recollect where she’s heard such a sound before. She turns away from the cliff, running towards the source of the shrieking. It seems like she is running forever. Her feet bloody and raw from her efforts to find the wounded being. A small fire pit draws her attention and as she comes to stand before it, there nestled in a bed of dirt, leaves, and branches, she sees them. There they are...almost exact replicas of the ones gifted to her years ago...four dragon eggs. She peers into the darkness to find the mother of these eggs. Just when she’s about to touch one of them, she senses a recognizable presence before she can fully comprehend what she will see. 

At this point she naturally awakens. It was this dream that first made her suspicious that she might be with Jon’s child. But this time the dream has not ended. There is movement coming from the darkness. There is a sense that she will have the opportunity to finally see the mother of these precious eggs. Dany is conflicted, both excited and scared. She desperately wants to see this other Mother of Dragons, but she feels the revelation will change everything. Her patience is rewarded, when a massive head peeks into the light. She stares into the face that gradually returned from the obscurity, the one illuminated by the fire, the one she knows as well as she knows her own...its Drogon.

Dany is thrusted into awareness, eyes flying open. She is immediately alert. Looking around the chamber determining that she is alone. Her heart is beating wildly. The thoughts in her head are racing to find answers to explain what she just dreamt. Was this a kind of vision? If so, does this mean what she thinks it means? Is Drogon with children of her own?

Daenerys run out of the room, and in her haste forgets to put on her shoes. She goes across the hall, racing down the steps, and out the doors of the keep. Her eyes are focused on the hill Drogon likes to rest on, the one she would welcome Rhaegal to share. Upon their return from the Dragon Pit, the dragon’s control was tenable, at best, and Dany gave her Favorite their space, but now.... The wind was blowing her hair wildly around her face, she was barefoot, her dress was in disarray, and she looked the least queenly she possible could, but she didn’t care. All she could see was making her way to Drogon. She needed to know for sure. 

As she makes for the crest of the hill, her treasured dragon rests, golden eyes spying her though the darkness. Dany can’t stop herself from touching her child. She expresses joyful tears and laughter, which she can’t seem to stem. She can feel Drogon, she can sense the creature’s residual confusion and anger, but she can also detect some underlying emotions. Such as the sentiments a female has when she knows she is expecting. “How...how is this possible? How did I miss this? Did my own feelings about my expectancy overshadowed yours? Oh, my Child! ” A memory begins to play in the back of Daenerys’s mind. She sees herself and Jon riding her dragons through the winter mountains in the North, beyond Winterfell. Her body warms with the memory, and she isn’t sure if the heat comes from her own recollection of what happened with Jon in one of those caves, or Drogon’s own experience with Rhaegal. “These are yours and Rhaegal’s children.” Drogon nod was so small, she almost didn’t notice it. 

Dany drops to sit before her dearest, remembering when the dragon was an egg, and how it loved to perch itself on her shoulder when it was a wee whelp, and how a fledgling allowed her to be its dragon-rider, and now before her lays her dragon-child on the brink of motherhood. Her precious dragon presses its head against her, rubbing alongside her womb. Daenerys continues to embrace her Drogon, while whispering words of affection. She starts to share her hopes that one day their children will bond together, just as she and Drogon have. 

Drogon looks at her, head tilted to the side, she sees an image of the eggs being destroyed by a mob of people while Drogon rains fire down in an effort to protect the clutch. It kills her to admit that Drogon’s fear is a real one. She can’t keep her dragon safe in Westeros. Experience here has shown them that. She won’t risk Drogon, and these eggs. A mother protects her children, and Dany knows that sometimes to protect she will have to let go. Though it pains her to do so. She nudges her dragon to look at her, “You are one of my greatest delights. I do not find joy in sending you away, and I know you are torn with wanting to stay. But we both need to do what is best for our children. I will be safe with Jon. He won’t let anyone hurt me. Well I don’t see my feelings being spared, but I don’t for fear for my physical wellbeing. Don’t let me keep you here. I want you to go find a place that is safe for you and your clutch. And when the time comes, and you are ready, find me...find me, my child. I promise I will be waiting for you.”

If anyone questioned if dragons could cry, Daenerys could easily assure them it was possible. Both mother and child held each other until the sun began to lighten the sky. Daenerys realizes that their paths need to diverge, both of them on a separate journey for survival. And she knows as Drogon’s mother, that it is she who must initiate the separation. Slowly she begins to rise. Standing before her child, she gently touches Drogon’s face one more time. Dany steps away from her last dragon. 

Her magical child sends a menacing look beyond her; she turns to see who is the recipient of such a look. Its then, that she sees Jon. She’s not quite ready to share this moment with him. He’s undeserving of it. So, she turns back to Drogon. With one last tender moment between her and her cherished dragon-child, Drogon releases an earth-shattering roar, flying away from Westeros for a destination unknown. 

Daenerys steels herself to face Jon. She doesn’t know how long he has been out with her; all she could see was Drogon. Her heart is happy for her dragon-child, but sadden that they need to be separated. It pains her to know that they are not able to share this journey of motherhood together. 

“Should I be worried?” 

She doesn’t want to reply. She wants to walk back to the castle in silence. She needs space away from him. Everything inside her want to make him hurt, but she doesn’t want him to die. She knows she is not weak, but she doesn’t trust herself to control her anger towards him. Part of her accepts that she made a disastrous mistake in the destruction of Kings Landing. She did not want to be the Queen of Ashes, but it seems that is what she has become. Dany reluctantly accepts Jon’s argument that taking the rest of Westeros with the force she took Kings Landing, will only lead to her ruling a country of nothing. 

Coming back to Westeros was not supposed to end this way. Perhaps Jon is right, that Westeros in its weakened state, would avoid further war and bloodshed. That conservative practicality will outbid hot-blooded patriotism with winter on the periphery. Turning back towards Jon, she looks at him, taking in his current state...he looks weary, yet determined. “No. Westeros is not a safe place for my dragon. I have sent Drogon away. But rest assure, my dragon-child will return when she is ready.”

“She?” Jon looks bewildered at her words. 

“Yes. She.” Daenerys touches her hand to her womb. “Seems like you and Rhaegal have more in common than you thought.”

Dany observes the look of shock appear on Jon’s face once he truly understands the meanings behind her words. Jon turns to look in the direction Drogon had flown off too. 

“I think it best that she goes somewhere safe to tend to her clutch. They mean more to me than you can ever know. I’d rather put my trust in you, than risk the end of their existence.” Jon walks back to her, brushing her hair away from her face, he stares into her eyes. She wonders what he is looking to see residing there. “So, Drogon leaving is a good thing, yes?” he asks. She nods. They both walk back to the castle in strained silence. Once they arrive to her chambers, Dany cautiously takes Jon’s hand into her own. He seems taken by surprised by her initiative. 

“Jon...it has been a long time since I have been at the mercy of another. When I was a child my brother and I were at the mercy of powerful people who wanted to have a Targaryen in their debt. Then I lived at the generosity of my brother, but as you know, there was little leniency to be found there. After my brother sold me to Drogo, compassion didn’t find me in as much as I looked for a way to improve my station. The death of my husband and child, led to the birth of my dragons, his unplanned gift to me. After they came into existence, my being at another’s mercy seemed to become a thing of the past. Yet, I showed clemency to others, even when they didn’t always deserve it. I did this in Essos, and it seems I forgot how to be gracious when I came here. There is something about Westeros that makes me forget myself, and I feel I need to know what it is, so that I don’t forget myself again.”

Dany breathes deeply, reaching a hand to touch the side of his face. “I am truly at your mercy Jon. I am sending my army away, with the exception of a few. I’ve sent my dragon away. I am allowing you a certain amount of authority over my person. I will follow you North. But know this, if I decided I do not want to stay here, if I decide I want to go back to my kingdom in Essos, understand I will go back...with or without you. Remember who stands in front of you. I am Daenerys “Stormborn” Targaryen, and I remain here with you, in Westeros, because I will it. 

Jon nods, and Daenerys walks away. “I understand, Dany. I don’t want to keep you against your will, but we have to repair the damage we brought when we came South.” She nods in agreement. 

“The Daenerys I know would want to stay and fix this.” He releases a weary sigh and rubs his hands across his face. “This has been a long day. I realize you may need one more day of rest. We can wait one more day, I can give you that. I don’t know much about women..” Daenerys arches an eyebrow at Jon. Jon resignedly smiles at her expression, “I meant about women in your condition. I remembered Catelyn Stark slept often when she was with child. I just wanted to give you time where I can. I don’t want to remain on Dragonstone for too long, for this is the first-place people will look to find you.”

Dany considers his words. “Honestly, Jon, I don’t think another day will matter. I will find whatever rest I need on the ship, but I thank you for the thoughtfulness. If you send for a bath and a morning meal, I will be ready to leave as planned.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed a positive emotional break for Dany, and a more plausible reasons for Drogon to willingly leave her without resorting to using Bran. It was never my intention to have Bran be the go-to when it comes to Drogon. I truly think Dany would do everything to protect her dragon and the clutch. In the face of Drogon potentially being destroyed (and/or her clutch), I think Dany would sacrifice herself to save her dragon, if she needed to. They are too closely bonded. 
> 
> The idea of Drogon and Rhaegal came from the theory surrounding Vermithor and Silverwing...who were believed to be a mirrored (and therefore mated pair) of their original riders, a married couple who loved each other, Jaehaerys and Alysanne Targaryen. 
> 
> I had played with the idea of Rhaegal laying the eggs, but I thought it would be interesting to parallel Daenerys's pregnancy along with her dragon. So I started to research what types of animals exhibit reverse sexual dimorphism...particularly around size...since Drogon was so much larger than the other 2 dragons. My research led me to birds of prey, specifically raptors. These females are larger, and one of the evolutionary belief behind this that a larger female could protect herself from aggressive males that have physical traits, such as sharp talons and beaks, which could hurt them. Then over time females preferred smaller males because they were less threaten by them...in fact they would dominate the males. The males would then take on more of a provider role. 
> 
> Reading about reverse sexual dimorphism kinda described Dany and Jon's relationship...just a bit. My mind goes back to Dany's, "Someone...taller..." That line always makes me chuckle :P
> 
> If you're interested a short excerpt about reverse sexual dimorphism, then here it is...  
(https://web.stanford.edu/group/stanfordbirds/text/essays/Size_and_Sex.html)


	12. Sansa IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa makes a decision that will set her on a new path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love...Fingers-crossed it continues as we move into Sansa's next chapter. 
> 
> I know a lot of people have been saddened by Sansa's part in the story up to this point, but things will begin to change for her...I think in a good way, with this chapter. I hope you think so too. 
> 
> Like your favorite broken record...keep comments respectful.
> 
> And...I own nothing!

Sansa Stark has seen and experienced many unsettling, even terrifying, things in her life. However, she was emotionally and mentally unprepared to see her brother’s body being ravaged by his time inside of a dragon. She will never forget how his body convulsed, how he just shook on the ground, his body contorting into various uncomfortable positions. The long-pained moans still echoed inside her head. But the worst was the copious amount of blood coming from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. It seemed endless. Sansa felt helpless. There was nothing either she or Sam could do, but stand by and watch Bran tear himself apart. As soon as the sun slipped into the horizon, the Godswood became eerily silent. 

A no-nonsense Sam took charge of the situation. “Come Lady Sansa, help me now. Get those pieces of fabric. We need to contain the bleeding.”

Sansa rushed over and began to mimic Sam’s actions on one side of her brother as Sam worked on the other. Her hands were coated in Bran’s blood. She thought there could be no possible way for Bran to survive this ordeal. As she worked to save her brother, she silently cursed her siblings and Jon for this plan. There had to be a better way than this. It still amazes her how they trust her in some ways, but completely distrust her in others. Perhaps she is to blame for some of that, but did this situation warrant them to distrust her. Why did they think her unworthy of advising? They trusted her with Winterfell and the North...do they think she want the violence and wars to continue? Sansa is snapped back into the moment by Sam’s next request. 

“I need you to make sure he swallows this milk of poppy. He needs to stay under consciousness to...well...do what it is he does, but also to heal a little. From what he shared with me; I think his work is done. I will send for help to bring him back to his chambers.” Sansa begins to carefully pour small amounts of the elixir into Bran’s blood-stained mouth. She hears Sam stop and she quickly looks into his overly wide eyes. “Uhm...Lady Sansa, I thought you should know that Brandon wanted me to send a raven to Greywater Watch. He prepared a scroll for a Meera Reed.” Sansa nodded in understanding, and Sam went on his way to get assistance. 

“Oh Brandon Stark! What did you do? I know you said this plan would work, but I can’t believe this is the only way. Look at you.” Sansa’s voice breaks as she continues to administer the liquid. She takes in her brother looking so broken. “No. This is not the end of your story, Brandon Stark. You are the Lord of Winterfell. You are a Stark. You didn’t survive all you did to end this way. I will not allow it. You are my last brother, Three Eyed Raven or no, I couldn’t save Rickon, but I am willing to die trying to save you. Do you hear me?” She mutters, like a madwoman, into the silence of a listening forest.

Sam returns. Sansa steps away as a couple of men from Winter Town, who were devoted to House Stark, carried Bran in a transport cot, back to Winterfell. Sansa follows behind. “What happens next, Sam?”

“With Bran or Jon’s plan?”

“With Bran?” Sansa can’t think of Jon right now. Bran is of more pressing importance.

“He rests. We can try to make sure his is fed, warm, and comfortable. Most importantly we can try to soften the hardships of his healing, but aside from that, there is naught more we can do.” Sam gives her a sympathetic smile and waits for her to collect her thoughts. 

“How long till we know if he’s getting better? What signs should I look for to determine if he’s improving?” 

Sam gestures for her to walk as he speaks. His response gives her hope that Bran could come out of this, but he does caution her that there will be repercussions to Bran’s body that one can’t begin to predict, and that she must brace herself for what a returned Brandon Stark might look like after such an ordeal. 

It was nearly a fortnight since Bran’s was brought back to Winterfell from the Godswoods. Her hands and his body have shown signs of healing. In fact, his body has healed so well that Sam has order the withdrawal of poppy. This is all bittersweet news for Sansa, because while his body heals, Bran refuses to wake up. She sits by his bed waiting. Ordering no one to interrupt her care for him unless it was absolutely necessary. She is thankful to Lord Royce for remaining in Winterfell. He has been a tremendous help to her and to the North. His commitment to the blood-bond between the Starks and the Arryn’s and his protection to the offspring of an old friend, is uncontested. He keeps the North going in her stead, as she waits for Bran to awake. The Starks owe Lord Royce and his House a debt they may never be able to repay.

To pass the time, Sansa has begun to sew a few shirts and trousers, that would be good for a colder winter than they are currently experiencing. She looks up and watches their reflection in a mirror. A boy, no, a young man, pale and still surrounded by furs, the warmth of a fire raging in a small chamber, and a woman with red hair, red eyes, and stoic resolve sitting in a chair by his side. Sansa wonders if this is what Bran and her mother looked like, so many years ago. 

Recalling that time, she is ashamed to admit, that while she loved her brother, she cared very little for visiting with Bran after his fall. Part of her decision to stay away was because her mother ordered her to, and as a dutiful daughter she complied with her mother’s demands. The other reason was out of pure selfishness. She was young and betrothed unknowingly to a monster. Her attentions were focused elsewhere. She was moving to the Capital as the Hand of the Kings daughter. She was finally leaving the North. Now she can say with a firm sense of self, that she was a silly twit and an extremely stupid girl. She likes to think time has changed her enough that the young foolish Sansa, while a part of her, does not rule the woman she has become.

A firm knock alerts her to Podrick at the door. “Come in.”

“My Lady. Lady Meera Reed has arrived, and I have brought her here to you as requested.”

Sansa dismisses Podrick with her thanks, and she walks over to Meera Reed. Taking Meera’s calloused hands into her own, she thanks her for coming so quickly. Meera looks down to see the wounds covering Sansa’s hands, and then she looks to Bran. “He told me of what he was going to do in the missive he sent. Bran always pushes the boundaries of his capabilities. He truly has no ability to regulate this obsession. How is he, my Lady?”

Sansa thinks Meera describes the Raven side of her brother very well. She shares Bran’s progress with Meera as they both sit next to him. One woman on either side of the bed. 

As some days pass, Sansa can’t help but notice how often Meera gently strokes his hair, his face, always staying connected by physical touch. On occasion, Meera will bend down to whisper words designed for Bran’s ears only. Sansa wonders what is being said. It's only when Meera is speaking privately to him that Sansa sees Bran’s face change expression, as if he is trying to get back to the voice. Sansa can see that whatever experiences Bran and Meera had beyond the wall forged a bond so strong it seems as if not even the Stranger can break it. This is good. She thinks all the Starks have at least one person like Meera. Arya had the Hound and, of course, Gendry. Even Jon has Tormund, Sam, and at one time, Edd. Sansa had Shae for so long, then Brienne, and Jon, if only for a time. She tells herself it’s okay to remember Jon fondly, and to not take away the importance he had in her life, she just needs to be mindful not to let those memories overshadow his faults. 

“Meeeeeeraaaaaa”

The silence in the chamber was broken by a ragged sound of a broken man saying a name. 

Sansa and Meera both look at each other and then at Bran. Meera bends down to speak quietly to Bran, urging him to open his eyes, while Sansa yanks the chamber door open startling her sworn shields. “Please get Sam. He’s waking up.” Podrick immediately runs towards the Maester’s Tower, and Brienne follows Sansa back into Bran’s room. Sansa makes an abrupt stop, Brienne almost colliding into her, when she sees her brother’s eyes. They are open but they are unseeing. His held tilts to the side in her direction. Sansa scurries over to Bran and reaches for his hand. Bran offers her a tired smile. In a voiced unused, she hears one word, and to her it’s the most beautiful sound. “Sister.” 

Sansa loses her composure and lays down next to her brother, holding on to him, as she lets tears of relief stain his nightshirt. 

It is a few days later when Sansa finds Bran alone in his chambers. It’s a very rare occurrence that Lady Meera is not beside him. The return of Brandon Stark herald changes in him, and not all those changes have been discovered. He is still tired and sleeps most of the day. He has night terrors that plague him when he slumbers. Bran’s has been able to tell them about the night he delved into the mind of a dragon. He remembers being inside Drogon and how he felt the beast’s confusion, and how his own mind and body were being torn apart. When Sansa asked if there was further need to warg into Drogon, he assured her that Drogon had left Westeros with Daenerys blessing. He claimed that Drogon had a journey of their own which would take the dragon far away from the continent. 

The idea that Drogon would ever leave Daenerys’s side, particularly in light of recent events, left Sansa completely dumbfounded. After hearing from Bran how the dragon destroyed Kings Landing with dragon fire, part of her is glad that the dragon is gone, it is an unfair advantage in the world where most people live without ever being touched by the supernatural...where ones without magic could never be equal. She finds it hard to believe of Drogon’s departure. She truly could not conceive of any situation that would separate the Dragon Queen from her beloved dragon-child. Bran told her that Sansa would one day meet the dragon again, as a long-awaited acquaintance. Sansa cooled at that idea and thought it highly unlikely.

While they waited to catalog all of her brother’s notable changes, the most obvious difference to Bran were his eyes. Clouded in white, not the white she’s seen when he is warging, but the white of genuine blindness. 

“Hello, Sansa.” This newfound development hasn’t seemed to stop his ability to ‘see’ who enters his rooms. 

“How do you know it me?” She teases. A month ago, she would never had thought to jest with Bran, but she is glad that she has a brother she could still do this with. Since Bran’s awakening she sees that the Raven still resides in her brother, but she also recognizes parts of the boy she once knew. 

“I am the Three-Eyed Raven or have you not heard...” He replies with a shadow of a smirk on his pale lips. Sansa thinks pale is good compared to the red of blood. “Besides, there are many ways to see, Sister.” 

“What else have you seen pray tell?” She continues with this lighthearted banter, not wanting it to end. 

“Hmmm...I have seen saddle bags packed with food for a long journey.” Sansa’s smile slips. The coldness in the air, that indicates the Three-Eyed Raven is speaking, chilled Sansa to her core. 

“There are some clothes fit for colder weather than the current climate we have. There are even furs, armored riding leathers, and boots. All fit for a tall woman with supple frame, not as tall or broad as Brienne, but tall nonetheless. All these things I see, along with two horses capable of a long hard journey.”

“You see a lot for a man who has spent most of his time unconscious, and hasn’t left his room in a turning of the moon.” She begins slowly. She knows the time has come. “You are well. Well enough for me to go. We both know it is time.”

“Why are you leaving? Jon is coming? Surely you could wait a little bit longer.”

Sansa laughs bitterly. “The point of my leaving Bran is that I don’t want to see him. After you awoke you began speaking in your sleep. You told me of many things, things I am not ready to contend with. I know he brings her North. I imagine Winterfell seems like a safe place to bring her. Isn’t that why we all came home? Why would Jon think to do something differently? I also know she’s with child, and that is most definitely something I am NOT ready to see. I think in time I can I make myself love him less, or rather endure being in their presence without losing myself to being angry and bitter, feelings better left unfelt. I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to be like Aunt Lysa or Cersei any more than I have to. I deserve a better conclusion than that to my own saga. So, I will leave. I will stay out of Jon’s way. He seems to do exactly what he wants, and has little thought of me when I am out of sight, and with the South in chaos and a new family on the rise, that is how it should be.” 

Bran ponders her words, and continues after a deep sigh. “Perhaps you are right. Maybe leaving is the best thing to do for...you. Heed my words Sansa, he is coming. What you choose to do with that knowledge is entirely up to you, but always remember he will search and seek you out. You cannot avoid him forever. Whether you pick closure together or closure apart, rest assure soon you will have this conversation with him.”

“Well, until then. I’m done waiting for Jon Snow to arrive. If he wants to speak with me, then yes he will have to find me.” Sansa takes her brother’s hand in her own, and ask, “So will you tell him where I am.” Hoping her extremely observant brother can’t see her true thoughts reflected in her own eyes, the ones she knows reveal how she feels about Jon, she stares downward. 

“Hmmm...I may tell him where you went, but not where you are.” He says cryptically. 

Sansa softly laughs to herself, “Very well, Brother. Winterfell is yours, Lord Stark.” She bends down to place a soft kiss against his head.

Bran maintains, “I am no Lord. I am the...”

“Stop!” Sansa says firmly, looking directly at Bran’s face. “We are Starks and we are Others. You are a Stark and the Raven. Learn how to combine them into one Brandon Stark. I will not accept the Other as an excuse. You will figure out how to do your duty. I have trust that you will. A piece of advice though from the former ‘Stark’ in Winterfell, don’t push Meera away. Admit your own faults towards her and work to apologize for them. She is good and true, and in your most dire moments, your better part pulled itself to the surface to asks for her...and she was here.” Sansa stands up and walks towards the door. “She tethers you to this world, Bran. If that is important to you, then be the Wolf you are...and claim her. Be well, and don’t muck this up.”

Bran looks to be considering her words. “Safe travels to you, Sister”

Sansa walks away with a bittersweet heart. Bran, if he’s smart, will begin a family of his own as the Stark in Winterfell. Her own situation continues to haunt her, Jon is close and he brings with him a family. She refuses to wait for him any longer. He has made his choice and she will respect it...even though it pains her. For once she will choose herself without it being at the cost of another. She did that before, with Rickon, and it’s a guilt that haunts her till this day. While she knows in her head that she didn’t physically put Rickon in danger, her heart is very much aware that she invoked his name to motivate Jon into a war to reclaim their home. She used it knowing in her heart that Ramsey would never let him live. After Rickon, she swore she would never ransom another if she could avoid it. Her choice to leave now impacts no one unfairly. Winterfell and the North has Bran, and he has trusted emotional support in Meera Reed, dependable knowledge in Samwell Tarly, honorable logic in Lord Royce, and a fierce champion in Brienne of Tarth. Sansa knows the task she has placed on his shoulders better than most, and has made it a point not to leave him alone and unprotected. A vastly different experience from her own. Arya is helping Jon as is her choice. As for Jon, he chose to follow his Queen, and while Sansa is sorrowful about the innocents hurt in the taking of Kings Landing, the problems wroth by his decision and his Queen’s are not for her to fix. It was hubris, taught to her by the likes of Littlefinger and Cersei, that made her think she could do so in the past. For the first time in perhaps ever, Sansa finally realized it’s not her job to always play the game. 

Sansa looks over at Brienne and Podrick, as she shuts Bran’s door. She smiles at her companions, “Podrick, we will leave tomorrow at dawn.”

“Are you sure, my Lady?” Brienne asks once again. 

Sansa looks around the family section of the keep, and with a sense of nostalgia, she imagines Rickon chasing after Bran, or she slamming her door in Arya’s face after some silly argument about something important only to young children with no cares, or Robb running through the halls as he raced with Jon and Theon, or her parents taking turns shooing young direwolf pups out of the Keep. With a private nod, she parts with her prized memories, as her mind returns to her most loyal protectors. She confidently replies. “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I have moved her character away from canon, but she needs to figure out what she wants to do with her life. Who she is and what she wants. She's become very dutiful in many respects, (I think a lot of that came from the need to control her surroundings...and self-preservation), while her siblings have chosen to pursue other paths...whether they chose them or not, they do identify with those identities (Bran: 3ER, Arya: Faceless Men) and not with the responsibilities expected of a Stark (Bran: I am not the Lord of Winterfell, Arya: I am not a Lady.) 
> 
> So what do you think is next for Sansa? Do you feel like she's headed in a positive direction or do you foresee regression?


	13. Jon V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon pushes Daenerys to talk...treatment of the Northmen towards Daenerys and her supporters are discussed...especially Sansa’s behavior towards her. Jon has to admit some hard truths to himself...and to his Dragon Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty lengthy chapter...well at least for me it is. 
> 
> I know Jon is the one we love to hate, and I admit sometimes when I am writing his POV I'd like to punch his face. 
> 
> That being said, he's going to tell Dany things I'm sure others would have liked him to say to her...at some point. If you are a true Dany fans, then I am giving you some warning before you read the chapter. My intent isn't to completely justify Jon, demonize Dany, and anglicize Sansa, but rather its about two people, Jon and Dany, trying to get the other person to see their point of view. These are flawed people. 
> 
> Please remember to keep the comments kind, and if not, then constructive. If you can't do either...do not post a comment. Just move on...with that said, I own nothing.

The ship has set its course, making its way from Dragonstone to White Harbor. The winds steady, the sea calm, but the clouds in the sky remain ever present. The mood on the vessel can be described as somber at best and tense at worst...both for the crew, a mix of Northerners and Unsullied, and for the Targaryens at odds with each other. It has been three days since Jon and Daenerys left the South and very little has been shared between them. Jon giving her space to process how and what she feels at his personal betrayal, but the time has come for them to determine how to move forward. 

Jon’s plan only staves off further bloodshed and works to bring the remaining leadership in Westeros together. The proposal presented to reinvent Westeros, well that isn’t just for him to decide. He sees many problems with rulership in here, but the most destructive hinderance are the powerful families who rule their homelands. Not all are undeserving of the power place on them, this makes him think of the Starks, but there are many families that do not work towards proving themselves worthy leaders within the realm. There is no need to. All that is expected of them is to show fealty to the King or Queen of the Iron Throne. The manner of selection is based on the name their ancestors created for them, and not the value they have earned in their own right. Too much given to the high-born with very little thought or resources available to the low. 

In the end both parties determine the success of a kingdom. Though he always believed himself a base-born bastard, he was fortunate than most since the man he thought to be his father claimed him. He received the same lessons as his true-born brother. He was also held to the same expectations as well. Generations of Stark worked as a pack to maintain the trust the North placed in them. Bannermen can be fickle, can betray, can revolt. But the Starks lived and died by an honorable code, and that predictable-ness kept most bannermen at bay because it is a code they understand. This is why the North will follow a Stark...especially a true-born one. 

He thinks on his conversations with Sansa about the South and the Houses that ruled here. She told him that the Southern high-born are different from Northern ones, they always seemed more concerned with how to widen their sphere of influence surrounding the ruling house. Whereas Northerners will support, when asked, but prefer to live in relative isolation from their liege lord and by extension other bannermen. 

To Jon, it is tiring to try to placate the feelings of Lords and Ladies. It’s the commoner that usually suffers harshly for the decisions made by their Noble. Small-folk are small-folk no matter where they come from. High-born needs can be singular and selfish...each House wanting something different to improve their “standing’, but low-born...their needs are always the same. That was the wheel, which was created when his ancestors conquered Westeros. If he were a romantic man, he would say there was something poetic about the destruction of said wheel at the hands of a Targaryen. 

Jon realizes in all the time, almost a half a year, that he’s been with Daenerys, never has she spoken of her direct plan to dismantle the wheel. She has always spoken in generic terms, and constantly explained the reasons why leadership needs to change...but never has he heard her explicit plan. Now he wonders if the reason he’s never heard one is because she and her advisors first had to see how Kings Landing would fall or was there ever one at all. Nevertheless, she must have a strategy for the day-to-day mechanics of her vision. It’s this they need to discuss. Politics and diplomacy always have its part in leadership...even among the Free Folk. 

Walking down the steps to Daenerys’s cabin, he sees two of her Unsullied men guarding the entrance to her quarters. They stare straight ahead. Jon proceeds to knock twice on her door. “Enter..”

Opening the door cautiously, he watches Dany, sitting on a bench below a port window. She looks to him. He can still see the fire in her eyes, not burning as hotly but neither was it the fire of desire, perhaps one day, but for now...no, this is smoldering anger. “We need to talk, Dany. We are about a fortnight away from White Harbor, that leaves us with 3 moons before we return to the South. Staying silent isn’t an option for much longer.”

Dany turns her head and nods in agreement. “You’re right. I can’t expect you to know my intent if I don’t speak it. But what would you like to talk about Jon. Do we address your betrayal? I can’t seem to move past this...I’m not sure if I can.”

“Do you want to me to address you as your lover or as your subject? Perhaps that was always the problem. Could we be true partners with such an imbalance of power between us? When all was good, we seemed to move in the same direction, but when we began to see things differently there never seemed to be room to maintain those differences...at least not for me.”

“How can you say that? I took my dragons and my army North to fight your war, Jon Snow...your war! I lost my dragon before it even began. My Dothraki, a generation of people...gone, my Unsullied...troops absorbed by your Night King in the efforts to stave off as many Northern deaths as possible. I did that for you. I was willing to come for you. Yes, I could have said no, but I agreed to come before you even bent the knee. Who had the power then?” Dany heaves with resentment.

“Yes, you did agree to come North to fight. Yes, you sacrificed your men...I don’t know why the Dothraki attacked, since that wasn’t in our plans, but it doesn’t excuse the loss. I do not devalue the costs to your Unsullied. But the North, Free Folk, Valemen, and Iron Born died as well. Maybe not at the same numbers you lost, but lost nevertheless. Their deaths were the price we paid to keep the Night King from taking us all...and that includes you, the balance of your army, and the people you want to liberate. If the North fell, unless you planned to depart from Westeros, you were going to have to face this battle at some point. So, while I did bring the battle to your door, we both know you would have been destined to meet the Night King eventually.”

Jon inhales deeply as he rubs his hand across his mouth, drawing his fingers close as he tugged on the ends of his beard, exhaling as he pulls his hand away, trying to retain his calm. “You say you came for me, and I know that our feelings for each other played its part...as did the loss of your dragon. I appreciated your desire to come without expecting me to bend the knee. It touched me, so much that I offered something to you that was not mine to give. You were willing to come, without promises, but when I gave you my kingdom, I mistakenly gave you false hope...hope that my people would fall in line because as their king I made the choice to kneel. But the North does not function in such a manner. It was wrong. I was wrong. It's only now that I see, when I gave you my kingdom, I gave you my power. That was the beginning of our difficulties. But Dany, you were the one who chose to come North. It was your decision. So, to answer your question. You had the power. And you welded it, as expected of a Queen.”

“Was it an unusual expectation that the North would be appreciative of my support? They treated me and my people like objects to be tolerated. My people never treated, nor would they have treated them that way. You say the North is different, but maybe it’s time that the North learned more about the world, Your Grace. Putting that aside, is it so hard for Northerners to show a modicum for courtesy for any visitors that enter its lands.”

“Courtesy or adoration? How was my house discourteous to you and your people? Provisions were made for shelter, food, proper clothing, and free access to explore the land and the castle. No one was assaulted, abused, or hurt in anyway.”

“Oh well, since the basics were provided for, then respectful conversation and politeness was too much to ask.” Dany scoffs as she stares at him in dismay.

“Respectful conversation. Dany our people don’t even speak a common language. Perhaps the Northerners could have made more of an effort to get to know your people on a personal level, but that effort goes both ways. If your people were happy to stay to themselves, then why would you expect the Northerners to be different. In the end we all came together to do what we came to do...and that was to fight together...and we did.”

“Missandei tried to make a connection...with some children. She could tell they were scared of her, and they ran away when she spoke to them. It hurt me to hear how that hurt her. She was a good woman, who did not deserve that. And what of your...cousin? She made no attempt at courtesy towards me. I was her Queen.”

“Missandei seemed like a good woman. Deeply loved by Grey Worm and treasured by you. I’m sorry you lost her, exclusively in the manner which you did...I’m sorry she felt slighted by the children, but given the recent events they were exposed to: long instability in the North, Ramsey Bolton, then preparation of war, unfamiliar faces, dragons come to life from stories meant to make naughty children conform, perhaps they were guarded because trust was, is, a hard commodity to come by. Think of your own experiences. How easy was it for you to open up to strangers, even when you required them for your survival?” 

Daenerys pauses...silent for the longest turn. “It was never easy. It took years until I made it look effortless, but the unease and distrust were always there. I miss having someone I could trust. I had Missandei. I am woman enough to admit that Cersei broke something in me, when she executed Missandei...and you tore something else. I see you chose to ignore your cousin...”

“No, I haven’t ignored her. I want to address your concerns separately because they are...separate. Sansa... she allowed as much as courtesy dictated, and nothing more, but that had more to do with me, than you. Dany I want you to understand what things were like for Sansa and me. I think knowing puts slights into better context.” Jon asks, hoping Dany would be open to listen to him speak about the other woman who shares his affections. 

In the wake of a long pause, Dany nods her permission, Jon isn’t sure if he should be grateful or concerned. Nevertheless, he continues to speak because his decision to remain silent is part of why they are in this quandary. “Sansa and I never acted on our feelings. That was my choice, not hers. Since reuniting with her, at Castle Black, I’ve spent more time conflicted over my inability to stop loving her in the way that I do.” He takes another calming breath before continuing. “When I left for Dragonstone, there was love between us that grew out of struggles and successes over a long period of time. It didn’t come instantly...though if I am honest, I was surprised by my attraction to her. Ugly and twisted because I thought she my half-sister...and I know that means nothing to a Targaryen, but that isn’t how I was raised. I may be a...dragon, but I was raised by wolves.”

Jon thinks about the words he needs to say next. Praying that he doesn’t put another obstacle between them with his words. The silence has gone to long, and he can feel Dany becoming tense. Bracing himself, he continues, “When I left her, I made sure to leave my kingdom in her hands...but it wasn’t just my kingdom. It was hers too, she truly was the Queen in the North, and when I gave you my realm...” 

Dany’s eyes widen as she carefully whispers, “The Queen in the North...”

Going with his sincere belief, and trusting she would understand his true intent, he pushes past her words. “When I came home, I was no longer a King, but she never stopped being their queen. You offered to come without asking for anything in return. I gave my...our...kingdom away for very selfish reasons, partly because I loved and believed in you. Sansa may not have been my lover, but she was more than a subject, she was my partner. She deserved better treatment than I afforded her. You both paid the personal price for my choices. I feel as if the brunt of your interactions between each other are a result of me making too many decisions that were dictated by love rather than duty, and this unfairly impacted your impressions of each other.”

Dany turns to look out the window, the silence in contemplation. He finds her slower to reply to him, no doubt a behavior risen out of recent events. “My dreams, our dreams, that is a shared goal that we have. We both still want that, don’t we?”

“Yes. I do. Do you?”

“Yes. Its why I choose to still be here. You admit that you love me. You claim that you gave me the North, when it went against your best interest. You have followed me, and remain with me still?” Dany looks at him earnestly.

“I blindly followed you Dany, even in the face of objections, because I swore a fealty to you. I can’t do that again. No matter how much I love you. I don’t want to be your subject. I don’t want to be anyone’s subject. I don’t want to be your King. I am happy to be your lover...and maybe at some point, your husband. I want to model how to build a better world than the one we live in. But unless you see me as your equal, we can never be, and we just won’t work. As King, I struggled with these kinds of boundaries with Sansa. I struggled with her willfulness when it was cross-purposes to mine. Her challenges in public would set my teeth on edge, but I realized she felt free to speak to me as an equal. Even though she suffered at the hands of many who had dominion over her. She didn’t shy away.” 

Looking at Dany and willing her to understand the importance of what he tells her next. “We need that for us. We need to speak freely and challenge each other. We need to be able to feel differently about a matter without making the other feel like they’ve been betrayed. We need to be fair in what we demand from each other. We need to be able to be angry with one another without turning it into an epic event.” 

Dany looks to Jon with disbelief. “Oh, if anyone contributed to an epic event, then that would be the Lady of Winterfell. I told you what she would do with the truth of your parentage. I told you what would happen when the truth came out. We can’t contain it and it has now taken a life of its own.”

“Or maybe you could have stopped to reconsider that the Iron Throne wasn’t your birthright. That perhaps your destiny had changed. You still wanted me, and expected me to concealed who I was, rather than together facing the challenges my truth presented. I know you didn’t want me to say anything, but your reasons for doing so were selfish. It wasn’t for the greater good. Revealing my secret meant that the ideal savior your Westerosi advisors created, wasn’t meant to be. Revealing it...just changed things for you in a way you didn’t want to address.” Jon yelled, stopping in mid-thought to collect his calm before continuing. “My family, my fath...the Starks grew up with the understanding that their father was unfaithful to their mother. It was stain on my family. I couldn’t keep this to myself. My sis...cousins deserved this truth just as much as I did.” 

“It also changed the truth about you and Sansa. Don’t pretend as though you couldn’t have kept silent a little bit longer. That this was all my selfishness.”

“I repeat, my feelings for Sansa remained the same, nor did I act on them after discovering my identity. I just felt less conflicted about it all. When you came to my chambers, the night of the feast, did you think you sounded like you were asking me to delay this news? You made your decision absolute. Be with me, stay silent. Speak, and we are not together. How beneficial is that for a relationship. Did that sound like we both had equal weight in the disagreement? Dany, my choice to reveal should have been my choice, and as my lover I wanted you to support it. As my lover, you should not have ordered me as a Queen. Now yes, I agree Sansa did just as you predicted she would do, and I will address it...with her. Sansa’s betrayal was towards me, not you, and your actions upon discovery of her treachery are not hers to own.”

Daenerys rises and walks to stand in front of Jon, voice solemn, “When I came to you that night, I came as a lover. I’ve worked so hard to succeed in my efforts long before the Long Night. Do you think it fair that I just give it away? Watch the dream die...”

“No. Aren’t we trying to keep the dream alive with the truth revealed. Unfortunately, it is a by-product of a reactive approach rather than an intended one. Our mistake was that we didn’t have this conversation then. If we had made a plan. If you insisted less, and I spoke more, perhaps we could have found a common place to plan for this revelation. A plan that could have benefited the people’s transition from the world they knew to a far better one...but you were intent on taking what was yours with ‘fire and blood’...I think, for a moment, you lost sight of your purpose.”

Stepping away from Jon, but retaining his gaze, she declares, “I do not trust your Lady, Jon. Your Northern Queen. She acts in her best interest only. She is dangerous to me and to any plan to dismantle the regime she holds dear. I am curious to know how you see Sansa fitting into this relationship. Is she part of this story? She was very adamant that the North retain its independence with you as King...or herself as Queen?

“Well I guess that’s something you both have in common. She doesn’t trust you, thinks you act to serve your best interest, present as a danger to the North and the destabilization of her home. You both are similar in some ways. In important ways.”

Dany scoffs, her disbelief evident. “I have personal misgivings about that.”

“Sansa defends the right to hold the North because she doesn’t trust people in power. She trusts herself...she once trusted me.” Jon surmises, he recognized that any actions in support of Dany, would splinter Sansa’s trust in him. “When she was young she was told, if she were fortunate enough...and grew into a proper Lady, that she could marry a prince. She was raised to be a Queen Consort, in the judicial confidence that it would be her reality. Her queenly aspirations were to serve as a king’s wife, not as a ruler in her own right. When Robert Baratheon came to Winterfell with his family, he made her dreams a reality. Then she became an official pawn in a game she didn’t know the rules to. In her formative years, she was at the ‘mercies’ of some of the foulest beings you could imagine. Some worse than others. She learned from them all. Now she tries to surrounds herself with good people, and she learns from them too, taking these traits and making them her own. She is not perfect, but her desire for power is rooted in her fear. She’s learned a degree of empathy over the years, for she wasn’t a very kind or thoughtful girl to people she thought less deserving. Life experiences changed her. She may want power, but it is not to abuse others, but rather to keep herself safe...and by association, her people. Is it because she is high-born, that she less deserving of seeing a better Westeros come to life? Being high-born didn’t save her from her past, neither did it save you, or me. I believe, if she knew what it really meant, she would want to see this new world too.”

“And who do you suggest would speak to her on our behalf. It seems as though you and her have your own difficulties and she and I are not of the best of terms...nor have we ever been. I don’t see how much of anything can be communicated at Winterfell. There is just too much pain associated with that place.”

“You’re right. Winterfell is not the place to speak on this. Sansa and I have much to discuss. I shall take you to the Wall. I think you will find the Free-Folk civilization quite interesting. Their communities are not like any other on the continent. You have found your experiences built the foundation of your dream. Use the Free-Folk culture to strengthen it. I will set you and your men at Castle Black. Tormund is still near with some of the Free-Folk. You will be safe there. They can remain objective about everything that has happened in the South. They don’t follow 'kneelers'. The kingdom of Westeros isn’t something they are invested in, so they won’t act out against you. Regardless, the Free-Folk believe in taking and keeping what you have by force. These people and I, we understand each other. There is honor and respect among us. You will be safe there. Your warriors and Tormund’s people will protect you. It’s the safest place for you to be. You and our child.”

“And while I am at Castle Black, you...”

“Once you are settled...I will go to Winterfell and speak with Sansa. My hope is that I can get her to trust me enough to give a relationship with three a chance.” Jon thinks after all that has happened and the time that has passed, he knows the likelihood of Sansa willing to be in this type of relationship would be short of a miracle...but he still needs to try. He couldn’t live with the idea of the unknown. “Whether or not I can get her to agree to an ‘us’, I do think I can get her to at least listen. I’ll leave the convincing that a new Westeros is needed, to you.”

“Me?” All he can see is the Violet of her eyes, shock...the blatant emotion...first and foremost.

“Who better? You moved me to give you my kingdom...while yes I loved you, that was not the complete reason. I still believed in your idea, Dany. You have built an empire of people dedicated to your cause. People who agree with your vision. Who else can speak for you...better than you?”

“Not all in my kingdoms agree with my cause. There have been challenges and times of...unrest.” she mummers.

“But you still persevered...have you not? Swim upstream, when it would be easier for you to swim down.” She smiles at him...“Yes. Consider Sansa...and by extension, the North, your upstream.”

“It seems like you’d have me wooing your woman, Jon Snow. What is the benefit of this for me? If I stay with you, I don’t necessarily want to share.”

“If Sansa stays with me, it’s because she’s made a personal choice to do so. She gets the same choice as you. Sansa has become dutiful in her maturing years, and she will separate from doing what’s best for the North. If she rejects me, I still think she is a worthy ally, and you need as many allies as you can get. If she allies with us, then the remaining Northern houses will follow her lead. She can also use her blood-alliances with the Riverland and the Eyrie to influence their Houses. Since Tyrion’s arrest, his allegiance towards you might be questionable, but his fondness towards her wouldn’t hurt in securing his loyalty for the Westerlands. The Tyrells are gone, but the Tarlys are still influential in the Reach. Seeing Sansa putting aside her feelings for you, in response to doing the best for the realm, may persuade Sam to reach out to his family in support of any plans. The Stormlands, much like most of Westeros, are nearly depleted after the War of the Five Kings, Gendry is the new Lord Paramount, but he’s more likely to support this idea if Arya and Davos do. As for Dorne, they are the outlier. Having Sansa support this only helps you. My tender feelings aside, she is a useful piece of the puzzle. Can you get support without her? Maybe. Would it be harder without her? Yes. Is gaining her support a sensible choice? Yes.”

“How long will you be gone from me? Just so I have an idea of how much time we have?” Daenerys inquires.

“From now until we arrive at Castle Black, a moon. Maybe a moon and a fortnight.”

“That doesn’t leave much time.” He watches her reach for a woolen shawl, draped on the back of a chair near the bed. 

“No, it doesn’t.” He affirms.

Watching her walk gracefully to the door, she pauses to look back at him. “I guess since time isn’t in our favor, perhaps we can continue speaking above deck. I am in need of some fresh air...”

Presuming Dany wants to continue their conversation, that is a positive sign for Jon. He reaches to open the door, and gestures for her to proceed. “We can talk about whatever you wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's Jon latest POV. Dany's will continue on the ship, but there will be a bit of a jump...about 2 weeks. 
> 
> So tell me, do you hate Jon less/more now that you've read the chapter? 
> 
> Who had the higher moral ground, and does it even matter at this point?
> 
> Share your thoughts (no bashing, please). If you like the story, send a kudos. Thank you for you time :)


	14. Daenerys V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys thinks about the decisions she didn’t make before meeting Jon Snow, and remembers how their relationship began to devolve after arriving at Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay...every time I post a Daenerys chapter I have to fortify myself in preparation for her fiercest of fans. While Dany isn't my favorite, but I don't hate her. I enjoyed her arc well enough, I just didn't buy into the dream... ( :/ I'm very pragmatic...lol.)
> 
> I admit, I do enjoy trying to find ways to reframe some of Daenerys actions. I think Dany, on the show, is very private. She is a very insecure and vulnerable person, but she can also be kind and generous...she is also a leader. Her background was so transient (and her brother abusive), that her insecurity, vulnerability, and her desire to do better are by-products of her experiences. There are many people like that in the world, and they can relate to her in that way...I know I do. Unfortunately somewhere along the line it all got twisted. I'd like to think in an alternate universe, Dany was stronger than the external forces that caused her to act as she did in the end. 
> 
> Please keep the kudos and constructive comments coming. I do enjoy the exchange...and I think some posters do too. 
> 
> **I own nothing!**

It has been a fortnight that Daenerys has found herself on this ship, though it feels longer. She spends the time listening to her maternal nature as it searches for every moment to force her body into rest. The days are spent in quiet repose, while nights keep her engaged with nothing but thoughts to keep her company...well thoughts, and Jon. 

In the almost 3 weeks they have spent on the vessel they have spoken plenty. Most of their conversation address why he bent the knee, and the truth he saw in her words, which led him to bend the knee knowing he didn’t have to...at least not to garner her support. During their most tense moments, she has found refuge, standing unaccompanied, on the helm of the ship looking out into the darkness ahead. The night sky luminated by the stars, with those bright enough to force their light onto those below, when pockets of clouds moved away from their position, shining a path back to the North. 

The change in course from White Harbor to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea was a welcomed one. A large part of Dany was relieved not to go back to Winterfell. If she had to isolate a moment where so much had gone wrong, she would have to say that all that was tenuous truly became undone when she arrived at Winterfell. If she had listened to herself, she could have taken Kings Landing and gone straight to her adversary...Cersei Lannister. There would have been no embittered feelings towards the Westerosi who resided here. But she had listened to counselors that were too invested in their own personal relationships to offer her the best approaches for taking back her home. 

If she had listened to herself, she wouldn’t have known about Jon...at least not by then. If she had followed her intuition she would be seen as the Savior Queen...the one to break the wheel...a mhysa in Westeros, and Jon’s birthright would not have mattered because fate would have her destiny prevail. Unfortunately, that did not come to pass. Perhaps the fates had decided, but Dany isn’t ready to acknowledge that possibility just yet. 

When she lost the few, yet powerful, allies she had, getting the North to bend the knee was the logical approach. They needed something from her, because a threat that seemed extremely unreal and unbelievable was coming to take all they held dear. Jon’s determination in the face of her firm expectation that he bend the knee, moved something in Dany. The resolve to do more for your people against the benefit of yourself, that is something she could relate to. It’s the hope that every measure you take brings you closer to creating a better prospect for those who have chosen you to protect and act in their best interest, to increase their chances for survival. 

Even though she detests how low she has found her station, leveled largely by her own actions at Kings Landing, Jon still is working towards moving a nation past the remnants of wars and loss from the politics of Westeros. His focus on those being the ones with the deepest scars, the ones who remain. He still follows this course in the face of her natural resistance to challenge his intent. But further from the surface of her mind, she still believes Jon when he says he doesn’t want to rule, but now she is leaning towards his acceptance of ruling when he finds that he must. Nevertheless, he is quite satisfied with walking away from leading, if the alternatives are worthy of the mantle of governance. He had done that with her, and with Sansa...as much as she would rather decline this realization there is too much parallel in how he was willing to defer to her and how he chose to leave his kingdom in the hands of his...other. 

When she and Jon finally...connected, she began to feel a promising future with him as a lover, knowing that as a King, he knew the doubts, challenges, and sacrifices that reigning places on the leader. It is the plight of the chosen to feel such pressures, and he understood them. When he entered her room on her boat, they came together without the utterance of a single word. Eyes spoke of questions, uncertainties, and desires, their flushed breaths communicated intent, and consent was granted as soon as her lips touched his. This led to an ignition of passion that left the two of them in a reckless state. She, the embodiment of fire...burned for him, and he took it all, her smolder, her intensity, her flame and he consumed it and walked away from her bed whole...with their shared fire banked inside of them both, only to be reignited at the slightest flicker. 

These feelings left her devoted to him in a way that was unfamiliar to her. While she loved Drogo, this felt different, and Darrio was comforting...but it never moved towards love. This sensation of flight found her descending slowly from White Harbor to the arrival of the Stark strong-hold. Then without warning she stood directly in the middle of a whiteout, all wrapped in the appearance of a tall woman, complete with long crimson hair, frosted blue-eyes, and the bitter chill of the North. But her crash landing hadn’t yet occurred upon her face-to-face with the Lady of Winterfell. Jon had spoken briefly of his “sister,” and their past. She attributed Jon’s discretion regarding Sansa as him trying to protect her reputation. Little did she know that there was more to the situation at hand. Her attempts at polite complementary conversation was met with apathy. Not in words, the Lady was too well-bred for such behaviors, but rather it was in expression, and the result surprised and angered Dany because she did not warrant it. During her stay in Winterfell her limited interactions with Sansa and her bannermen didn’t amass the support of the North. Being a queen for as long as she had been, she knew Jon’s granting her his kingdom would not mechanically elicit his countrymen fealty. But her anger at Sansa, and Jon...for what felt at times like his lack of support when he chose to softly back Sansa’s positions, had Daenerys isolating herself to keep her feelings at bay.

Though now that truths are being revealed, there seems to be some merit to Sansa’s treatment. Not as an ally to the North, no, in that regard Dany came with good intentions...but rather as the woman who had her man’s affection, both emotional and physical. Though in fairness to her, she didn’t know there was such a woman waiting for Jon back home. Now she realizes that if he had not learned of his parentage, he would never have acted on his feelings about Sansa. It is with that thought that Dany finally sees the ground getting closer...her passion-induced mist was hastily fading. His parentage. He was a Targaryen. The realm now knows of this by now, courtesy of Sansa Stark and Lord Varys. It’s with that acceptance she has encouraged to take his rightful name...if not both, then at least their family name. This has been a difficult concession for Jon to make. He reminds her that his blood may be both of the dragon and the wolf, but it is as a wolf he was raised and a wolf he always wanted to be...but now he didn’t feel as much as a Stark as he’d like to believe and that perhaps he was more Targaryen in others. Dany knows this decision weighs heavily on his mind, especially as she begins to swell. He wants to give their child a name to be proud of.

Their ending as Jon and Dany was fast upon them, the warning signs were there the night of the celebratory feast after the Long Night. The isolation while surrounded by a room full of people, the curious concerned glances from Varys, the mourning of her dearest supporter...the man who knew her before she created her own destiny...Jon left her alone, and he spent his time with Sansa. Yes, they were in a room with all the same people she was subjected to be with, but the ease they had with each other and the willing inclusion of their persons to celebrate with Free Folk and Northmen was just too much. For a period after, Dany thought that even among Drogo’s Dothraki it took a long while before they began to include her. In those early days, she spent most of her time with a small retinue of women, but the day she really belonged was the day she consumed the stallions heart. By then she had proven herself to the Dothraki of her worth. Back in Winterfell, Jon kept his distance from her, not because he didn’t want her...he still did, but his newfound knowledge opened up complications he thought resolved when he believed himself too closely related to the object of his longstanding affections. This news made another path available to him, and at that time she despised him for it. Now it feels less like hatred, and more like a bruising hurt. 

Daenerys could isolate the exact moment she hit the ground, mist evaporated, and a wreckage of what once was, left littered before. It would have been the moment she had pleaded with Jon keep his parentage a secret. She can conjure the exchange as vividly as she can see the ripple of waves closest to the boat, willing themselves out to sea. Walking into his chambers, the fire doing very little to keep the cold at bay, he tells her what she already knows...that Jorah died the way he would have chosen, and that was to have died protecting her. She admits to Jon that Jorah loved her and she loved him, but not in the way she loved Jon. She stepped into his space and his left arm made is way to her waist, drawing her tenderly into him, the sound of the fire crackling around them, and the gentle flicker of candlelight. I asked him if it was alright for me to love him the way that I did. I meant had he gotten past our shared blood as the obstacle that currently stood before us. Like before our lips came together, this time initiated by him. Not wanting to keep myself back from him, I ran my fingers into the side of his hair, wanted to bring him closer, a whimper escaping before a moan could. I let my hand fall down his chest and both my hands found security in steadfastness of his hips as he walked me back. The tender kiss began to change, once again my fingers found their way into the hair below his bun, and his left hand held my neck drawing me closer to him. Then the ember ignited, and we began to reach for the parts of each other’s garments that would expedite our desires, our attempt to strip ourselves bare was halted when he pulled his head away from mine. 

I could see him looking at me. I could see his desire, the wanting, it was all still there, but he just walked away leaving me naked in my vulnerability. I took a moment to reinforce my tender feelings. Telling him I wished he kept is birthright from me were the only words I could bring myself to say. Everything I had found myself denying, the way men responded to him, even those not of the North, they would want him. Damn the hells, it's why I wanted him. She couldn’t stop the words; she knew she should have the fears she had about the realm pressuring Jon to “press his claim to the throne.” Dany was aware that the mood in the room had shifted, it was confirmed when disbelief seemed to cover when he gazed over at her. Jon still dedicated himself to her and directly to her cause. 

Why wasn’t he listening to me? She thought...why does he not see? Sansa would make it so that he was pressed. Dany was aware of the power Sansa harnessed, to sway Jon to fight, to win Winterfell back from the Bolton’s. A man who had seen death and left it behind, a man who wanted nothing but to stop fighting and to find a place where he could get warm...this creature could make him fight for her...he was her champion, if even at great dissatisfaction for himself. That is a formidable woman...and Dany wanted no lady to have such influence over her lover. This knowledge weakened her. In one finale rally to make Jon understand, she tells him that Sansa is not who he thinks she is. As a woman held at the mercies of others, Dany herself is a tribute to such a life. In that way, she and Sansa share a kinship of sorts. But persist. I try one more time to get him to see that his truth will change everything. Even in exile, Dany had never supplicated herself to gain the favor of another, not it the way she was in that moment with Jon. 

Holding his shoulders, drawing him towards me, “I’ve never begged for anything, but I’m begging you...” barely able to keep my voice afloat, our world crashing down around us, “...don’t do this, please.”

Remember the feeling of his warm hands cradling my face, his sigh leaving a warm caress against my cheek. “You are my Queen. Nothing will change that.” His earnest look into my eyes gave hope, until he declares, “And their my family. We can live together.” There was something about his smile. As a man who smiles very little, Dany is well versed in what a smile on Jon Snow looked like. This one was placating...as if to serve as a filler to quell her feelings, but not sincere. Thinking of why he would tell, she whittled the reasons down...Bran already knew, but he wouldn’t tell if Jon made him promise. His sister Arya, the closest of the three living siblings...cousin’s he had, would never had cared, if anything she’d probably would have preferred living her whole life happily knowing Jon was her brother. He was never anything less to her...if his stories of their relationship held true. That left Sansa. What was it about her that made it impossible for him to entertain the idea of keeping his legitimacy a secret? If he thought of her, as a sister, then this knowledge would mean nothing to her, and she would remain with Jon as her brother in her heart. But that was not the case, she didn’t see him as her brother and clearly Jon didn’t either...not enough to keep this truth silent. On the heels of his words and that smile, Daenerys entertains the idea that Jon may have meant more than combining as good-sisters and good-brother when he said “We can live together.” Looking back now, Dany doesn’t think even Jon is aware of what he was really saying, but she knows...the “We” are not all of Ned Stark’s children, but rather the “We” is the three of them. 

It is all too much to withstand, barely keeping her soul from drying out, she tells him, “We can. I just told you how.” I felt the blazing heat that typically course though me come to a brutally abrupt halt, and coldness engulfed me...beginning with piercing pain in my heart, that slowly made its way through my blood as it traveled, freezing me from the inside out. It amazes me that I was able to remain upright for as long as it took me to exit his chamber, collapsing against the wall nearest his door, pressing a hand to the secret I know to be growing below the layers of my gown. 

What he saw as my demand was my fortification of self, because I knew it was only a matter of time before he would tell her, and it all would be over. What should have been the start of the beginning of a “them”, Jon, Dany, and babe, turned into Jon, Dany, and...Sansa. 

Things may not be as she wishes them to me, but not all the blame goes to Jon...or Sansa. She should not have listen to Tyrion for as long as she had. Her intuition spoke of conflicted feelings in her longtime guide. Regardless, her lack of action and repeated dissatisfying advice, is her consequence to own. Ultimately leaders must hold themselves accountable, and for too long she has placed the burden of fault for her lack of progress on her counselors. 

Dany finds herself tired once again, and with her guard she makes her way back to her...their rooms. Jon has taken to sharing her chambers. While they have not been physically intimate, she can admit she finds comfort in his presence. She is a strong woman, that she knows...but he is a good man. Jon doesn’t seem to shy away from the darker impulses Daenerys has difficulty regulating. The truth, no matter how hurtful it may seem, it's visible to her, and that is Jon does love her still, and though some may call her foolish, she returns the feelings in kind. 

Turning to say good night to her Unsullied guard, he nodded at her and looked forward, eyes focused and intent. Dany also spied a Northerner standing at the door as well. He nodded and kept his eyes focused ahead as well. Looking at them both, she thought perhaps this was a start. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm scared to ask...did you hate it, did you love it, was it tolerable...lol? 
> 
> I know the scene I chose had fans debating...hard core...on whether Dany had the right to tell Jon to keep his secret. I thought it might fit, if Jon really had feelings for Sansa. We hear Jon tell Dany she didn't have the right, but I saw it less as a queen's demand and more like a lovers. I know that won't matter much, since its not canon, but I enjoyed reframing the scene regardless. 
> 
> I think I may have to post Sansa's POV later than usual...maybe...it's written, but I am heading to a conference and I am not sure I will be able to post. So you might see something on Sunday or Monday, rather than Friday/Saturday.
> 
> As usual, thank you for taking the time to check out the latest installment. Until next time...


	15. Sansa V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa last night in Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've looked at my outline...and realized that this story has taken a life of its own...but I can work with the constraints I've set for myself...hopefully you'll still stick around for it. (Why did I ever think I could have written this story in like 12 chapters...lol?) Anyways...
> 
> A big thank you to the positive dialogue that sprang forth from the last couple of chapters. 
> 
> Please keep comments constructive...and as usual, I own nothing.

Sleep was nowhere to be found in or around Sansa Stark’s rooms. All efforts at feigning slumber were abandoned during the hour of the owl, flipping her furs off and making her way to the hearth in the solar, glad she remembered to bank the fire before going into her bedroom. The room is cold, but the fire hidden away in the coal and ash from the previous fire alight quickly, with some gentle but sure handling. Walking back to her room, Sansa pulls the heaviest fur from the bed. Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, she sits before the fire. Her mind begins the chore of cataloging all the things she needed to make this journey successful, anticipating complications before they could arise and having a solution in her possession. The trek from Winterfell to the Wall should take close to a fortnight of travel, supposing the weather holds. And since she has chosen to voyage north through the Wolfwoods, the advantage being it provides the perfect shroud, allowing her to departure with little notice. The disadvantage to that decision is that there will be less access to assistance should they encounter a problem. 

Over the years Sansa has learned to look at life like a complicated puzzle, whose outcome is open-ended and can be designed as she saw fit...if she just could manipulate the pieces just so. Lessons learned by the Masters. Harsh ones instructed by Peter Baelish, Cersei Lannister, and Ramsey Bolton, to gentler, but no less valuable lessons from Lady Olenna Tyrell and her granddaughter, Margaery, and Shae...oh, Shae, whatever happened to you? Sansa blankly stares at her hands, stretching her fingers to see them trembling...was it fear...no, not fear...she’s and fear are well acquainted. Closing her eyes, she begins to take inventory of her feelings, trying to identify this vague feeling, then as a soft awakening occurs within she realizes her tremors are incited by excitement. A wide smile begins to mark a trail of happiness across her face. She softly laughs to herself. After a couple of hours before the fire, assured that she’s planned for all that she can, the hour of the nightingale has arrived, telling her it’s time to say her final farewells before dawn arrives. 

Pulling out the garments she made for this journey, which are well-suited for the colder weather North of the wall. While Sansa may never be ready to go South ever again, she knows she cannot stay in Winterfell. Ready to leave home, but on her own terms, she looks to go further North. She heard many of Tormund’s stories of the ‘True North’ and the tales the Free Folk children shared with her, during the moons they lived in and around the Keep while awaiting the arrival of the Night King. Learning from some of the Free Folk about their choices of colors and styles of dress, and how these choices were informed by the places they resided in. Since she and Podrick were heading North beyond the wall, she settled on a white and gray fur for both their trousers and their coats, with a boiled leather interior of gray. She removes her sleep shirt, thinking she may not have need for one for a long while, though it did not stop her from packing one away. Reaching for a tunic shirt to serve as an undershirt for a woolen blouse. As she added each layer of clothing, she felt less like the Sansa she crafted during her tenure as the Lady of Winterfell. 

Looking at the mirror, she sees a woman she doesn’t recognize. Her bright red hair twisted into one long braid that begins at the top of her head, down her back, and tied off with a leather strap...similar to the one Jon would use. A faint echo of pain stabs her needlessly at the thought of his name. She pushes those feelings aside and continues to examine herself. The white and gray fur coat and trouser look like they will make her blend into the white of a winter landscape. Her boots thick and warm, though she will be riding to the wall...not walking, she must be completely prepared. The most foreign accessory to her ensemble were not the pants, but rather Theon Greyjoy’s bow and quiver on her person. Never raised to want or held any personal interest in weaponry in her youth...that was always Arya, but she has discovered much to her surprise she has a sure aim when armed with a bow and arrow. Since the meat stores were low and in an effort to refill the crofters, before the weather made it impossible, the men and a few women, went into the woods looking for game. A master archer she is not...not like Theon by any means, but she has found she can hunt smaller game. Looking at her image, she is not sure if this woman is her either. For as long as she can remember, her path had always been decided for her, now before her stands a woman who will decide her own fate...or so she intends. 

Confirming that the letters she left behind were on her desk, she walks to her door, taking one last look at the Lords Chamber...she thinks this room will never be hers again, and that might be a good thing. Making sure the hallway is clear, she quietly treads the path out of the Keep . The grounds are quiet with very few men walking about. She nods to them, her new image creating looks of disbelief on the faces awake at this hour. As she makes her way down the catacombs that lies the final resting place of her father and brothers...though she permits that Robb is not really there...she continues her pilgrimage until she stands before her father’s statue. 

She lights a candle, stands back, looking up at the man whose death catapulted her life to where it now resides. “How I wish I could look upon your face...your true face? Your death weighs down my mind and my heart. Guilt can feel like the sea, you can feel uncomfortable with the calm waves of regret but if you are fortunate...you can get away and swim to safety. Other times guilt can be too heavy, and the waves crash into you, making it impossible to raise your head above the surf, till all you can do is gasp for any air that will grant leave from the world and slip into you...there is no reprieve from that kind of blame.” Reaching out to touch his face, the likeness poorly done, she thinks. “As a woman, I know that your death was more complicated than just my actions, but nonetheless, I did play my part. I want you to know that I am so sorry, Father. I was a stupid girl, and we all paid a cost for that.” Feeling the tears in her eyes, they refuse to fall, but it comforts her to know that she could still cry...should the occasion call for it. 

“I am leaving Father. I have followed your words and provided a Stark in Winterfell. Bran will do a good job I believe...with Meera by his side...yes, he will do well.” She smiles thinking of her brother. 

“My hope is Arya will come a visit me once she settles her...commitments...in the South.” Sansa looks away from her father’s stone face, she pauses...trying not to think of the reason her sister wasn’t in Winterfell. Turning back to him, “I have left a message for her to find me, should she want to.” Sansa thinks her adventurous sister would be up for the task of exploring North of the Wall. 

“I really must go. While I hope you do accept my apology, I will understand if my request is beyond your power to bestow. Either way, send me a sign with your answer. I will be waiting for you.” With a last look at her father, she turns and walks away. 

Before she could walk completely past her father, Sansa stops before her Aunt Lyanna. Jon’s mother. She decides to retrieve another candle, placing it in her Aunt’s outstretched palm, lighting it quickly. “I know we’ve never spoken. I have stood before you, lighted a candle, and once prayed to the Sevens for you. Though I have never said a word to you before today.” Not sure what made her stop, she looks to the statue of Lyanna Stark. “Jon returns, with his Queen, and if circumstances remain...a child...in several moons. He will come to Winterfell, and I am sure he will come to tell you himself...but I think my mother would not like the wait of knowing the fate of her children, so I am reaching out to you before I go. Jon is well and you will see his family soon enough.” Sansa turns away from the marble statue, that pained echo vibrating within, she turns to look back once more. “I love him, but he and I are cross purposes, and I don’t foresee that altering. I don’t wish him harm. Just happiness...his life hasn’t been an easy one, so if you have any authority, perhaps you can arrange for his pleasure to continue. His fighting isn’t over, but if you can find a way to grant him joy through the trials, I would be grateful.” Thinking her foolish for stopping, she turns and exits the crypt. 

As she walks towards the stables, she discovers Podrick dressed similarly, horses waiting and ready to go. “Good Morning Ser Podrick.”

“Good Morning, My Lady.” He replies with a soft smile. 

“There is no Lady here, Ser. Just Sansa, please...please.” Sansa eyes willing Podrick to hear what she is trying to say...‘I don’t want to be a Lady...at least not for a while.’

After a moment of silence, Podrick nods in acknowledgement. “I will try, but I ask that you return the request to call me Podrick.”

Sansa sighs in relief, “That I can do, Podrick. Thank you for coming with me. I’m sure leaving Westeros was not something you had planned for, but I am grateful you have decided to accompany me nonetheless.”

“It is my pleasure, my...Sansa.” He smiles sheepishly. “I have always wondered about North of the Wall, especially after meeting the Free Folk. I think much of our fabled tales were exaggerated, if not untrue. I think I’d like to experience Tormund’s ‘True North’ for myself.”

Sansa laughs at Podrick’s enthusiasm. It’s was his eagerness to go further North that encouraged Sansa to request Brienne remain in Winterfell. She thought this journey would invoke feelings that may have her questioning her decision to leave, and that it would be beneficial to have a companion...whose desire was compromised to want to remain in Winterfell. 

Mounting their horses, Podrick gestures towards the landing that overlooks the courtyard near the stables. Sansa’s follows his movement, see looks up to see a small party looking below...Bran, Meera, and Brienne. Touched that they would come out at dawn to see them depart, Sansa looks at Brienne and remembers how the woman saved her and Theon after their escape from Ramsey. Her eyes move over to Meera, the women had time to speak at length during her brother’s recovery and she learned much about the small fierce warrior’s soft strength...Bran is most definitely not worthy of her, but she thinks he can spend the rest of his lifetime trying to be. Finally, her eyes rest on her brother’s, their gazes speaking volume from such distance. After a long pause, he raises his hand and she mirrors the action in return. With a nod towards Podrick, she nudges her steed with her right foot. The horse speeds away from the courtyard, and with Podrick on her heels, they race out of the Hunter’s gate to start their journey through the Wolfwoods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a short chapter, but I thought Sansa's last night really didn't warrant a long one, but we did need to see her make that transition to actually leaving. 
> 
> As someone who relocates every several years because of my job, there is a process of letting go that you must endure. A lot of that release is purposeful and tied closely to how you viewed the totality of your experience now that your life there is coming to an end. It is vital to helping you to adjust to the unknown you're going to encounter.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter...if so, please send kudos...and I'll see you around next week with Jon's chapter.


	16. Jon VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon thinks about Daenerys’s pregnancy. He reflects on the plan they have devised. Jon and Dany share a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a quickie...hmmmm...get your minds out of that foul place. This is not that kind of fic :)
> 
> Thank you for kudos...there has been a big increase in the last few chapters. I appreciate readers from both sides of the 'ships' for taking a chance on this story, and sticking with it. 
> 
> Please feel free to send a constructive or positive comment...they are always appreciated. 
> 
> I own nothing...

It has been a moon’s turn on the ship. They are making good time. The wind strong, and the seas agreeable. The rustle of bed clothes, in a battle with lethargic limbs, gathers his attention from the map before him. Looking towards the bed is Daenerys, turning over, looking in his direction, a rueful smile hovering over her lips. She rubs her hands over her waist, no longer flat as it once was she had once remarked, not that Jon needed to be told. Without the availability of a maester, Dany’s previous history and one of the older Northman’s experience with a wife and eight children of his own, they both deduced that she is should be into her mid-fourth moon, perhaps fifth. He is still taken aback when he sees how she continues to swell with his child. 

Long days and nights aboard the vessel, they have spoken about their child, Jon’s fears of bringing a bastard into the world such as this, and her fear that she will lose this child or her life in the delivery of this little one into the world. The curse of the witch a constant companion for Dany, her joy shadowed by such fear. Jon refuses to accommodate the witch’s jinx in his worldview. He refuses to believe that the deities will take Daenerys away from him and their child. Hadn’t their mothers paid the price. The Gods would not be so cruel as to continue such a tradition. He, a living man who walked way from death, swears to the Old Gods and New, that he will enter the realm of death...and he will bring her back. Of that he has no qualms or doubts. 

He still standing at a desk, with a map of Westeros covering the entirety of the surface top, a marker...a sigil he knows she is unfamiliar with...in his hand. 

“Have you made any progress with our plan?” she inquires, as she sits up from her previously prone position. 

“I think so. Winter is coming, the defeat of the Night King stopped death from claiming us all, but the Winter is still soon to arrive and it will still be harsh. Provisions will be low in all of the kingdom. Over the last few years, Westeros has been involved in multiple wars to determine the right to rule. Armies are depleted to despairing numbers. In most places, militias are made up of a few remaining farmers, old men, and boys. These wars use food stocks, which were harvested for long term storage, in preparation for the next Winter to come. Combined with the reality that Winter is upon us, and a lack of additional resources on this continent, I think the realm will accept your help, provided they accept your conditions. The Westerosi will persist, and that means even the South will lean towards practicality of surviving the Winter. Politics will wait. My experience in the North and from conversation with...Sansa...about her time in the South, the majority of Houses are willing to treat enemies. They forget at best and begrudgingly move past at worst. Survival is always paramount. They will deal or they will die, but it won’t be at your hand, but rather it will be at their pride...but I still trust the instinct to survive will outwit pride.”

Jon watches out the corner of his eyes, tracking her movements, both grand and subtle. She moves to stand closer to him, arms pressed closely together, as they look over the map “So, if I offer support, food, materials...steady trade, with clear terms for what I want, you think the realm will concede.” She probes.

“I do. With strategically placed Houses willing to accept your proposition. If you state that you will provide a certain amount of food, at cost, to rectify the destruction of the food supply from the Reach, then that lessens your impact on the people who could have purchased items to replenish during this Winter season. The arrival of the food supplies by your army, would work to change some opinions...to see your legion as a sign of force, when needed, but also suppliers of aid.”

“The destruction of the supply was a miscalculation on my part. It should be me that bears the brunt of that decision.”

Jon nods in agreement, free of judgement. “One of the benefits in accepting your proposal, allows for these places to rebuild their population. The absence of war will give every region an opportunity to allow surviving children to move into adulthood...and into parenthood, in time. Also, with numbers drastically low, many may be willing to open the borders to welcome some of your Essosi, should they want to move somewhere different from where they are. In time you could welcome back any of your people that would want to come West. You have to remember; the South is not the North. Foreigners are not uncommon sights. Your followers may be better received here than they were in the North. Again, not necessary, but possibly an option.” 

“It is your hard-lined position that each area follow your vision of a shared-governance, but even with your parameters...it will be too much for them to turn away. For many in the realm this is the most authority they may ever have had since the time they were independent kingdoms.” He calculates. “I will say though that this part needs more definition.”

A bit of Dany’s hair falls of her shoulder as she leans in to get a better look at the locations he identified as people he thinks she should speak with. A thick silvery curl knocks a marker down, without thought, Jon hooks the finger of his right hand, around her curl, moving it away from the fallen piece, and back over her shoulder. As he reaches over, his eyes meet hers. It’s always like this for them. Eyes plead, bodies drawn close by and unseeing force, and then their passion ignites leaving the unspoken words burned into their flesh. What a brilliantly painful way to love? Are they ready for this? He will not let this question rest on suppositions. 

Jon captures her face in the palms of his hands, her flesh soft and warm. The thumb of his right hand strokes the highest part of her cheek, while his other thumb rubs across her full lower lip. Drawing his head close to her, he sees her eyes flutter but they don’t close. Jon rubs the tip of his nose alongside hers. He tracks his way to the side of her head, pulling her in, feeling their babe between them, and breathing her scent...deeply. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? Do you understanding what you are asking of me and what I am asking of you? I will still fight for you Dany, for your vision, and for your love. But if we take this step, do you know what you are agreeing to. There is no going back after this, Dany.” He declares, hoping that she will answers with the truth of it in her heart. 

Jon knows she still loves him, and she has begun to see from his actions that he has never wanted to conquer her, which has opened her up to showing him signs of understanding and acceptance, if not complete forgiveness. But fragments of him questions if she could accept his love of another woman. Especially that woman being Sansa. Targaryen or no, the application of Sansa in their life goes beyond the theoretical. The women’s strained history concerns him greatly. As it stands, Jon doesn’t know how Sansa will respond to him, and what he wants from her. They may be too tattered to recover. Jon doesn’t think Dany is ready to make this choice, not with Sansa being such an unpredictable variable. And while he has told her that Sansa’s choices are her own and shouldn’t impact Daenerys’s decision, Jon knows it’s not that simple, and with so much at stake... As much as Jon selfishly wants Daenerys to agree, he hopes she has reclaimed her equilibrium, and that she can see that while her desire is true, she is not ready for such a commitment. He will trust her response; he only hopes they are attuned in understanding the consequence.

Jon feels Dany’s hands rest on top of his, her long slim fingers holding onto his wrist. Her body trembles against his own. “I am not ready to fully commit, Jon.” Pulling his head away, giving himself a better angle at looking into her violet colored eyes. “I can tell you I love you. I know I want you, but there is too much still unknown...I think you need to address that first, before I could decide.”

Jon smiles at her, and she looks at him queerly, reaching up one finger to trace the smile on his face. She look at him intently, “I know this smile. It tried and true.” She begins to smile, a smile reminiscent of the smiles she only shared with him, aboard a ship such as this. “I may not be ready to give you all you want Jon, but I can give you this...gladly and freely.” Reaching for his head, her slender fingers wove their way into his hair, with force uniquely her own, she pulls him close and seals her lips over his. Jon know what this kiss is to mean. It's love. It's affection. It's clemency of a kind. It’s hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some people will say Dany would never forgive Jon in any way. I don't fully believe that, and since this is my story...
> 
> On a side note, they are almost off this damn boat. I never realized how hard it is to move a story forward when the characters have no where to go. I mean one or two chapters is fine, but we are now on three. I'm over it...they need to get off the boat. Thank god for Dany's next chapter...hint, they aren't on a boat!
> 
> Please remember to subscribe, bookmark, send kudos if you enjoyed the story. I'll post Dany's chapter on either Friday or Saturday.


	17. Daenerys VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Daenerys arrive at Castle Black. Daenerys learns about the Free Folk, and discovers that parts of the wheel may have been broken for some on Westeros. News from the South makes it to the North.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is probably my longest, but a lot has to happen to set up the next 2-3 chapters. Also for Dany's character, there is more for her to reflect on as this is her life's mission that she's reassessing. The information she gets is meant to create a paradigm shift in her current ideology...that is much harder to write in a short chapter. 
> 
> I want to thank all those who posted last week. Your willingness to share what you love and what you don't helps me as a writer to know if I am being understood correctly. All of this was shared in a civil and respectful way. I do feel like I am on the right track though, so thank you for that. I appreciate your willingness to continue on with me as we get closer to our first "reunion" of a sort. 
> 
> Please keep comments copasetic...nothing hurtful or offensive. It's not necessary, nor wanted. If this story is not for you, when put it back on the virtual shelf and get something else. I'm sure the story you are looking for it out there waiting for you.
> 
> Lastly...I own nothing.

They have been traveling for four days since their arrival to Eastwatch-by-the-Bay. Grateful that all the horses survived the journey on the ship, they have been able to keep a steady pace heading west towards Castle Black...Unsullied and Northerners. Her mind wanders to the stretch of wall, with its random castles, that has served as a shadow accompanying their ride across the North. Daenerys admires the magnificence of the Wall and could see the value in why it was first created. After direct contact with the Night King, she would have constructed anything to keep that being on the other side and away from the people he would have appropriated. Jon told her that the wall had been designed and created by one of his ancestors, Bran the Builder who was subsequently the founder of House Stark, at the end of the first long night...about 8,000 years before. This Bran left people on their own on the other side of the wall. He could not have been that benevolent a Stark, knowing what laid beyond the wall, and still he allowed people to remain their unprotected. She remarks on this thought to Jon, who rides quietly beside her, while men ride around them...creating a bubble of sorts. 

“I don’t think it was an easy choice, but after seeing the Night King I think Bran the Builder’s goal was to try and save the many. The walls primary duty was to keep the Night King and his army on the other side, the role of the Night’s Watch was to serve as first defense. We lost sight of that. I think to make sense of our purpose there, we had to find an enemy because the true enemy was hiding and waiting...far longer than we mere men had patience for.”

Daenerys ponders his words. “History has a tendency to make the truth of an episode seem unreliable. After our own experience with the Night King I could see why your ancestor would have made an unsavory decision. Tensions high, fear and elation combined to make a heady antidote towards moving on from such an event. Still some people were left out, I guess they would be the Free Folk, such as Tormund and is ilk. To hear him speak, it seems as if maybe the Northerners on this side of the wall suffered more than they.” She surmises.

She looks over to Jon and his him trying not to smile...no, laugh. “Do my words amuse you?” They are much easier with each other, after five weeks removed from her actions in Kings Landing. Her love for him paired with Jon’s actions on the boat, tells her he truly does not want to rule, but will should he have to. This is true of the man’s past as the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and as King in the North. Along with the conviction of their plan to create a better government in Westeros, it has brought her to a point where forgetfulness will never come...but the anger doesn’t rise as it once did, and fondness makes an appearance much more frequently.

Jon lets out a chuckle. “No. I just think Tormund would agree that life on his side of the wall is better. At times, most times, I would agree too, but I would never tell him that. There isn’t enough space in all of the North to fit his self-image and the rest of the population.

Daenerys understands. After meeting the man, she can see that he does have a ‘healthy’ sense of self...and how that might be a little unbearable for others. Before her, she sees their party stop at the crest of a hill, when she and Jon reach the top she see Castle Black once again. The last time she was at Castle Black, she had just come from beyond the wall to save the small group of men who went looking for a wight. She wasn’t able to get Jon onto Drogon’s back. The odds of survival were not in his favor, but she still kept looking beyond the wall in hopes that he wasn’t gone. He didn’t feel...gone, and she held on to that thought that she would know if Jon Snow had truly died. Even then, she understood she had loved him. 

Jon commands a Northerner and a Dothraki to go to the gates to inform Tormund of their arrival. The men take off at a rapid pace, the rest of the party continues much slowly. About half a distance to the gate, the horns are blared, as they get closer to the gates the doors begin to open. Standing in the middle of the courtyard are Tormund and a woman she recalls seeing at Winterfell...another Free Folk, and Jon’s direwolf...Ghost.

As they proceeded to get off their horses, Daenerys sees Tormund walk to Jon. Tormund leans over, whispering something in Jon’s ear. Jon’s face takes on a serious demeanor. He listens, looks towards Tormund, then listens to more as the big man continues. Daenerys stomach is full of knots, has Jon been misled, was his assessment of these people wrong. Did he walk her into more danger? Is Tormund asking them to leave? Oh Gods! Will she have to go to Winterfell? The sense of dread increases as she thinks about the alternative to remaining at Castle Black...Winterfell.

Daenerys observes Jon and Tormund’s shared look...as though the conversation is still continuing in silence. They both look over to her, and Tormund breaks her mental cycle of anxiety with a few words. “Welcome to Castle Black, Queen Daenerys. Seems like you and us Free Folk will be spending a bit of time here until we are both ready to move on.” Daenerys feels the knots at her core, loosen. “Hello Lord...Giantsbane. I appreciate the hospitality. I’m sure we will both find the respite we need here.” 

“No Lords or Ladies here. It’s just Tormund.” He snickers loudly.

She sees Tormund’s eyes widen as he takes in her waist. “Congratulations to you both, I see.”

He looks over to Jon. “Well your raven didn’t lie...” Slapping Jon’s back with enough force to fell him, “Snow...fatherhood, there is nothing like it, my friend. This calls for some goat’s milk.” Tormund walks off yelling that a horn of goat’s milk will make an appearance at tonight’s dinner in honor of the Great Crow King’s impending fatherhood. Daenerys should find herself insulted that Jon is the one being praised, yet she is the one carrying the child, but she can’t bring herself to be upset. Watching the people crowd him, crowd them, they are sincere in their happiness for him, and by extension of him to her. People on this continent have never come up to her this way. The men congratulating him, and the women inquiring about her healthy and her happiness. Experience has taught her that you can do more when your people love you, but when they hate you...your challenges are amplified. In that moment Dany thinks, if the people love Jon, then maybe they will love her too. They may not be able to love her first, as she would prefer, but sincere affection could still exist...and that is something she could work with.

By the time Jon makes his way to her, the crowd around her has dissipated a bit allowing him access to her person. Crouching down he brings himself to the level where he can look at his direwolf...directly in his eyes. The white beast slowly walks towards them, red eyes observing...almost like he is reserving judgement. The wolf nudges Jon, the man almost losing his balance, Jon laughs and the wolf looks...delighted. Dany watches Jon with his...child, for Ghost is the closest things that he loves outside of his family, but more importantly this is who he raised from a pup. The bond between a human and a majestic creature, such as this, it is mysterious. It’s a bond she understands, even more so...

“Ghost, come. You remember Daenerys.” 

The wolf steps up to her. He begins to sniff at her waist, rubbing his head against her swelling middle. With a huff, he steps away, sits on his hunches, and looks at her. Dany can admit that the gaze from this enormous beast is intimidating, but she doesn’t sense that the animal wishes her harm. In fact, she feel quite the opposite. Willing to take a chance, she slowly puts her hand out...palm up. She knows her dragons like to scent before they can trust, she takes a chance that Ghost is the same. The wolf smells her hand, licking it...his long tongue heavy against her hand. He stops, pulls away to stand beside her...eyes surveying those around them. 

“Good Ghost. You watch out for them. I need you to help me protect them. Understand.” Daenerys sees the wolf nod, and as Jon reaches for Dany’s hand bringing her to his old chambers, Ghost follows...ever loyal and ever vigilant. 

Three days have passed since they arrived at Castle Black. Tormund has discussed the challenges they are facing as they try to make their way back to their settlements. He talked about the current plans they devised to meet those trials. Listening to Tormund speak about ‘they’ she was curious as to who ‘they’ were, when all she could see was Tormund. 

“Aye. ‘They’ would be us the Free Folk who have been chosen to lead our tribes. We each have different obstacles, we come up with options for each other, each leader takes them back to share it with the other members of our group. If a plan is decided on, then that is the one will bring to life.” He smiles at her, taking a drink from his horn. She looks at him a bit doubtfully...he seems to know what’s on her mind, and laughs. “Don’t worry, just ale, not goat milk this morn.” Dany smiles at being understood so quickly. 

“So, your tribe works solely on your plan, but you do inform the other leaders.” She further inquiries.

“Well we inform the others, but if we need help from the others, we will provide that too. Before the Night King we could barter goods and services. Now we don’t have many goods, but we can still offer services. That will be the ways of it until we can rebuild in our settlements.” He clarifies. 

“Do you have large cities up beyond the wall? What does ‘rebuilding’ look like? She thinks of her journey North of the wall and couldn’t see where these people centralized their power. It was just a sea of snow. 

“Cities! TA HA! No self-respecting Free Folk would have or live in a city. We have our homes, settlements, and all we need to be care for ourselves. We take what we need in order to survive. Most of the times, the land provides, if not...then someone too weak to keep what they had. Though that shouldn’t always be the first response. It may not be the glamorous kneeler South, but it fits for us.” 

“Each settlement rules itself, who is responsible for the daily ruling of your outposts? Dany spies Jon watching the exchange between Tormund and herself. 

“There is no one person. We don’t need someone to tell us what we need to do. As a member of the group, you’re taught and raised to do what you need to do to help ourselves and to help the group survive. We take care of each other. Why do you need an authority to tell you to do that?” Tormund launches back. 

Daenerys thinks on Tormund’s words. “Therefore, you’re a ‘peaceful’ people?”

Tormund lets out a loud laugh, Jon smiles at her shaking his head. Jon answers, “No, they’re not. Peaceful, no. They don’t necessarily look for conflict, but it might arise around border issues. When some winters are harder than others, and bartering and negotiations don’t seem to work. There can be war and death, but it’s not something they seek, they just accept it as a consequence of life...a pragmatism of a sort. There is a bit of lawlessness that can abound among the Free Folk.”

Tormund nods. “Yes, there can be, but we Free Folk have been known to accept some shared-limitations in that regard. Especially when we find a King Beyond the Wall.” Tormund smirks unrepentantly at Jon. His face becoming serious, but pleasant, turning to Dany he says, “He may have bent the knee to you, but here, he is still the King we chose.” Tormund looks directly at her, holding her hand...she is surprised that he feels familiar enough to touch her person...no one ever presumes. “Now while we are happy for you, truly we are, understand that you are HIS queen, but you are yet to be chosen as ours...choosing who leads us...that’s just our way.” Tormund pulls away, given Daenerys a moment to think on his words. She should be angered, but she finds that she’s more curious. The kind of curiosity she once had when she first travel with the Dothraki. She’s pulled from her thoughts, when Tormund speaks. “Though I have to say, fighting against the Night King and trying to dispose of the Southern Queen, hmmmm...it does help your standing quite a bit...even if you haven’t resolved all your...issues as of yet.”

Tormund stands and makes his way to the door. “King Crow, Queen Daenerys, I have to go. Lots of work to do and I have spent too much time yakking with you. See me this evening...we’ll talk some more if you’d like.”

Dany immediately replies, “Yes. I would like to speak further, perhaps to others as well...especially the women.”

Tormund grins. “We have plenty of those.”

Watching Tormund leave the room, Daenerys turns to Jon. “There is a similarity in the freeness that both the Dothraki and the Free Folk share. They follow strength that is demonstrated in actions, but Dothraki will acquiesce to the stronger authority in all things or risk death, and the Free Folk will walk away from their leaders, when they aren’t worthy of rule, without fear of reprisal...instituting a new leader in their place. Interesting...” 

Jon nods. “The Free Folk aren’t afraid to argue their beliefs. If anything, it would be worrisome to see Free Folk avoiding conflict that would result in their subjugation of someone they didn’t deem fit for the honor. It’s hard to horde the power, because it can be transient. There have been many Kings Beyond the Wall, it’s not a hereditary position, they do continue to choose one so it isn’t a distain for rule they abhor, but rather it is the lack of honor and restriction on free-will that chafes them.” 

“Hmmmmm...King Beyond the Wall. You seem to have kept quiet about your ‘other’ kingdom. Seems as though you have something of an empire of your own.” She mused.

Jon shakes his head. “I do not want to be their King. I am not their King. I don’t...” 

“want it. Yes, I am familiar with that phrase.” She smirks. “Yes, I have heard that before. As I once told you, it doesn’t matter what you want.” She repeats her words said long ago, without that familiar frantic panic that she once felt. 

“You are a man people will follow Jon Snow, a good man who does not want to lead. At some point you have to acknowledge that some people have a destiny to lead others into greatness. Saying you don’t want the responsibility is irrelevant when your actions work towards the contrary. You may not want the responsibility, but you will take it because you know it’s the right thing to do. So perhaps the time has come for you to change your response to all the commendations that come your way...and just acknowledge you are a leader that was chosen by your people and you have chosen to lead them until you’re asked to lead no more or another promising option is available.” Jon stares at her for a long time. She wishes she could be inside of his head, to know his thoughts...

“I can’t be blind to the patterns of my life, no. You are right. While I might not want the mantles of leadership, I have taken them and I try to be worthy of the honor...even if I may fall short at times. I try to keep my intent true.” He concedes.

Daenerys smiles to herself, thinking this is more than she ever thought he would acknowledge about himself. There is a knock at their door, a man is let in by the guards, he seems to be out of breath as though he were running a great distance. “Your Graces.” He kneels. “There has been a raven from the South for you.” The man rises and gives the small scrolls to Jon, bowing awkwardly, walking hastily out of the room. Door closed; they are once again engulfed in privacy.

Jon reads the first message, “It’s from Tyrion. He has been able to get at least two Houses, and in some cases, more, from each part of the realm to agree to meet in the Riverlands. It seems Vary’s raven’s reach more people than were first thought. Those in attendance are either former Targaryen supporters willing to meet Rhaegar Targaryen’s son or Houses that are willing to listen to the man raised by the honorable Eddard Stark. It seems either way the news of my parentage has attracted people to accept the invitation.” 

Daenerys falls hard into a chair. She can’t believe it. The Lords are coming. They will meet. This summit will occur. A large part of her thought they would not come, and Jon would have to admit that her time in Westeros had come to an end, and they could leave and go back to Essos. But now...

Jon comes to kneel before her, holding her face in his hands, searching for her eyes. “This is good news Dany. While I wish my parentage hadn’t come to light, it seems to be working in our favor. If we can get them together, we can share the plan. This dream still has a chance of surviving.” Dany looks at him, but still remains in a state of stunned disbelief. 

“They are coming to see you...” she whispers.

“I might be the opening, yes. We should use that. Just as Tyrion used my invitation to Dragonstone to lure me there.” Dany’s eyes snapped to his...questioning. “When I received his raven, my invitation was to meet with you to broker an alliance. However, shortly after my arrival and our conversation, I knew this wasn’t a friendly invitation...I was expected to bend the knee, but that wasn’t what I was told in my letter.” He takes a deep breath and continues, “I was ‘encouraged’ not to go, but I saw no other way to save my people. The dead were coming, we needed help, and you had dragonglass and dragons. I was willing to take the chance that you were not like the Targaryen’s I had learned about as a child.”

Dany looks away pulling his hands from her face, but not releasing his wrist from her grip. “I had told Tyrion to tell you in the letter that you should come to Dragonstone...to bend the knee.” She sighs. “Well that’s explains your lack of fealty when you arrived. He is a clever man at times, sometimes to everyone’s detriment. It is what made him a good Hand for me, for so many years. May I ask, who were the ones who encouraged you not to go?”

Jon stands, pulling his hands from hers. “My bannermen were the loudest, but Sansa was the most determined. It wasn’t an issue of competition in my affections, but more so that I could have lost my life just as my grandfather and uncle had lost theirs...like all the Stark men who lose their lives when they left the protection of the North. What she’s never understood and what I knew were vastly different perceptions of the North. I was no safer in the North than I would be in the South. It was my Brothers who killed me, here...in the North. Still I knew her fear came from a genuine place, but I couldn’t let that stop me from seeking your help.”

Daenerys sees the logic in using the opening they have been offered. She then wonders out loud whose played their hand better. 

Jon seems momentarily confused. “Who played their hand better?”

“Your Northern Queen or my Hand. She told him of your parentage, knowing you wanted it kept secret, yes?” 

Jon nods.

“She told Tyrion. I suspect she knew he would share it with Vary’s, his fellow advisor. Now did Sansa know of Vary’s departure in allegiance towards me...did she sense it or did she see something. Quite an observer she is, your...other.” Dany pauses to look at Jon before continuing, not sure how to define Sansa quite yet. “Or did Tyrion tell Vary in hope that it would be public knowledge to use at a later time.”

Jon sighs. “I don’t think you’ll like my answer.”

Dany smiles sardonically. “No, I imagine I won’t. I wager we share the same answer. Sansa.”

Jon gestures in agreement. Dany proceeds to asks him why he thought she had played a better hand?

“She played what she was dealt. In telling Tyrion, she knew he would not keep it solely to himself. Such a secret...most can’t help but to find an outlet for the chaos it produces. I know that is what it did to me. While Sansa had others, she could have gone to, who were aware, she chose Tyrion and he chose Varys...his fellow advisor which would be a normal expectation. Tyrion would think that the information would be contained to just them. Foolish thinking considering that Vary was a spymaster. Varys reputation was built on knowing what information to hold close and what information to share for the maximum impact. Clearly Tyrion misjudge Vary, but I think Sansa was quite aware of Vary’s propensity for working in his best interest. Vary’s decision to share my parentage with the realm primed people to have time to process the information of my birth. Allowing for any letters following such an announcement to be accepted with better easy. Telling the realm prepared for two outcomes. First it created the opportunity to introduce me as more than Eddard Stark’s bastard, setting up the possibility of us...together, should you have taken the Capital...differently. A bastard would not have been accepted as a proper match for a Queen, no matter who that man was. Secondly, it also assist us in our current reality, since I believe Sansa saw the potential for the events in King Landing to occur. Perhaps she did not know which side of the coin Vary’s resided on, but she gambled that whichever side it was...he would release the information. Which leads me to think that the moves, made by Sansa, are the yields we are profiting from now.” Jon suppositions.

Dany frowns at Jon’s conclusion. Not wanting to think further on Sansa Stark, Daenerys asks Jon about the next letter. Jon passes the scroll to her. She begins to share the message. “There were a few small uprisings by the small folk, but they seem to have stopped upon the departure of my army. The people have been relocated to Rosby and Storms End. Torgo Nudho and a small command of his men, Tyrion, Ser Davos, your sister, and the remaining Northmen are headed North. It is suggested that there seems to be a number of Northmen not returning as originally thought. Their deaths contributed to small folk seeking vengeance for the attack on King’s Landing. Ser Davos ends with something about the North remembering.” Dany looks up to Jon after silently reading the note once again, checking to see she has conveyed all the necessary information. 

Jon gestures in understanding. “If they ride hard, and the weather keeps, they’ll be here in a little over a moon’s turn. If I leave in another sennight, then I should be able to return by then...or close to it.”

“That only gives us one more week before you leave.” She quietly asks.

Walking to her and bringing her flush to him. Eyes sincere, he tries to reassure her. “Know that I will leave Ghost with you as well. Between him, your Unsullied, the Northerners who remain loyal to me, and the Free Folk...Castle Black is the safest place I could bring you on the continent. I could stay longer, should you need me to. I will not leave you Dany, until you feel secure in my absence.” Jon expresses. 

Dany wants to make him stay, if not for the selfish satisfaction of knowing he is physical still all hers. But she knows Sansa Stark is good and embedded, sharing space with Dany, inside of Jon’s heart and his thoughts. While he is very attentive to her, and when he is with her she doesn’t doubt that he’s with her, she can see him in his quiet moments. Some of his thought are about Dany and their child, for he’ll see her watching him and he’ll share those parts of him with her. Then they are other times when he is caught thinking and wanting, but he never shares during those times. That’s when she knows his mind is with her. So, keeping Jon here will not make Sansa go away. Dany needs to know if Sansa could ever be a reality for Jon. She also agrees with the sensible aspect of Sansa’s political influence should Sansa agree that the old ways of ruling should transform. All of this is information that Daenerys must have, and the only way to gather this intelligence is for Jon to go and retrieve it. The sooner he leaves, the sooner he will return, the sooner she will know...and they can plan accordingly. 

Tracing a curl, below his ear, with a slender finger, she collects her thoughts before she looks intently at him. Her reply genuine, “Stay the week, there is no need to stay longer. I feel safe here. That is not the issue. You go and do what you need to do. I will learn more about the Free Folk, and when you return, I might have some more ideas...in fact, a few are stirring now...I just need some more insight and clarification from the people who live this life.” 

“There are a few mid-wives among the Free Folk that I would like you to meet. I know this pregnancy brings changes to a woman, both inside and out, perhaps they can be of help or comfort. I know my leaving may not endear you to me. I accept that, but know that I will be thinking of you...”

“Just as you still think of her...” she whispers...not a judgement, but more as an observation.

“My thoughts for you both never seem to end. I will also be thinking of this...” Jon’s large hands hold the sides of her small protruding belly. He kneels down to make eye contact with their babe. “I will be thinking of you growing healthy and strong. Never doubt it my child. No matter what, I will come back to both you and your mother.”

Daenerys eyes begin to water, she knows the commitment of Jon’s words are true. He speaks them as if he’s aware of that small flicker of doubt that she holds closely to her. She places her hands on top of his. There are fears that hide in the deeper recesses of her mind, that prod her when she feels naked and vulnerable...telling her that Jon remains with her because of their child, and that his love for her is just a toleration. These thoughts come every time she sees him looking lovingly, and at many times longingly, at the leather straps of his cloak or a handkerchief that were made by his Sansa. This drives the thought that she will lose him...that she will lose everything. Her true dream of having a family of her own is within her grasp that she dare not utter it out loud. The loss of her dream of a better Westeros would be hurtful, but the loss of him and their child would be devastating to her...in a way she is not sure she would be able to survive. 

Tugging him up to meet her eyes, she pulls him into an embrace, needing the reassurance of his arms and the comfort only his lips could provide. Ending the kiss, as her teeth release his lower lip, with a pop, and hoping that this week isn’t another end for them...knowing that the delicate accord they have made between each other could fall apart with the insertion of Sansa Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So lots going on...
> 
> Jon and Dany are welcomed by the Free Folk and Ghost (I think they did Ghost wrong in season 8. I mean its fine if they were trying for symbolism that Jon was moving away from his Stark roots and towards his Targaryen ways. If that's the case, Ghost should have been like "peace out, Jon...you go live your best life with your torn up dragon...I'm out!" I actually liked Rhaegal and wish he hasn't been killed, but clearly I have strong feels about Ghost...just love him.) 
> 
> News from the South...all I kept thinking was, Yay! Torgo Nudho is coming. I know he went real dark in the last 2 episodes, and that angers me because his character deserved better. 
> 
> Jon says it's time to go, and we see that Dany isn't as unaffected about Sansa as she may seem.


	18. Sansa VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Traveling to Castle Black brings back feelings Sansa would rather forget. On this journey Sansa discovers Podrick knows the whereabouts of a much-loved person from her past. Finally, Sansa begins to feel unburdened for the first time in a very long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay we are back with Sansa...and she's still on the move. 
> 
> I am truly appreciative of all the supportive comments I've received. The story seems well received, even if it pushes people out of their comfort zones...I commend you for sticking with me while I navigate this tale.
> 
> Please continue to comment...banter is aways appreciated :)
> 
> Remember to keep it comments respectful...and send kudos my way if you like the story. 
> 
> I own nothing, and without further adieu...

A couple of days past a sennight has since passed since Sansa and Podrick took their leave of Winterfell. She is seven days away from completing the second step of her plan, the first...preparing a reliable and stable council for Brandon. Traveling through the Wolfwoods she has found difficult to navigate, not because the terrain is rocky and the soil wet from where snow has not laid its thick bed, but rather it’s the memories of traveling with Jon she finds challenging to keep at bay. 

During the day she can ignore the recollections of riding and hiding in these woods as they made their way to appeal to various houses to join their cause. It was the five of them, always, Brienne and Podrick, Ser Davos, and them. Too many nights were spent planning from the hard ground, a thick cloak separating their bodies from the packed snow below them. She and Jon always slept close to each other, perhaps closer than should have been deem acceptable. But she didn’t care. He made her feel safe. It was in these woods and the purpose behind why they had to traverse them, that built the love she had for him...her stone, by stone. 

It’s when the sun is down, horses are tended to and supper is consumed, that she can be alone with her thoughts. The memories bring her feelings...pushing up towards the surface of her heart, but her tender feelings are rent apart when the past is met with the reality of the present. She doesn’t cry, she thinks her tears for Jon have been shed to the point of extinction, but she now thinks there might be some tears for her...the pain of being the one cast aside for another rips your sense of self apart...and Sansa had not much of a protective covering, their end has undone her in ways that makes her wonder if she can find her presence of self once again. She knows she can be strong, and she will be again. Sansa knows people doubt her ability to protect herself, and there is much truth to the physical aspect of that judgement, but there are many ways to protect yourself...and she’s finding that guarding her mind and heart are becoming easier with each passing day as she heals from what never was. Sleep choses to grace Podrick, and ignores her for another night.

***

Days after they left the Wolfwoods, Sansa realizes that she must have been granted sleep by some deity, and a restful sleep at that...the type that took her past oblivion. As the sun rises, she begins to pack her items and returns them to her bag. Podrick awakens and begins to do the same. “We are less than a full days travel to Queenscrown from here, and from there may be 2 days more days. Would you agree?”

“Yes, Sansa. Actually, if you were agreeable, I think we should stay in Queenscrown for a day...just to give these steeds a bit more rest...they’ve been traveling hard for the past eleven days.”

“Queenscrown is abandoned, I doubt the ruins will have much cause to complain of our company.” She quips. Humor coming easier to her with Podrick. He is a quiet man, simple in his way, but comprised of many layers that one would not see unless they thought to inquire. She has learned a lot about this gentleman, from word and deed. Somewhere between bringing her to Jon so long ago, to this journey past the wall, Podrick has become a...friend. She hasn’t had many of those, not since Jayne or Shae...she knows now not to take that small gift of sincere friendship for granted. She will try to remain worthy of it. They both mount their horses and begin a steady pace towards their destination. 

As they ride towards the deserted town, Sansa tells Podrick to continue his story about a girl he knew in Kings Landing...a girl who was once in dire need of a protector. The girl who inspired him to want to become a knight. Podrick looks over at her, a sad smile graces his face. “It isn’t a very proper tale for a Lady.”

“That’s okay, for I see no Lady here. We are just Podrick and Sansa...” she encourages. The circumstances that pushed a young man from having a comfortable life with Tyrion to a more selfless one is a worthy story to hear. It isn’t always easy to give up comfort...that kind of security can be a trap of its own.

“Alright. If you insist.” He takes a settling breath before he continues. “I met her at one of Peter Baelish’s houses.”

“A Lady of the Night.” Surprise lit in her voice. “I would not have guessed you would be a frequent visitor of such places...since you always seem to be at my door.”

Podrick laughs. “Well before I stood at Tyrion’s door, I had never gone to such a place. But one day, as a gift of sorts, he and Bronn took me there. I met many women. Let’s just say it was an...educational experience for me.” Sansa smiled, appreciating the unnecessary delicacy Podrick demonstrates in his choice of words. 

“I had begun to ‘visit’ more often, and it was there I saw her. She never tried to pursue me. If anything, she seemed to try and blend in with her surroundings. She was out of place in such an establishment. She was young. At first I thought her maybe 17 or thereabouts, but she was younger...15. One day I saw these men touching her in the lounge. Her eyes caught mine, and all I could see was her dying before me. Not her body, but her spirit. I couldn’t watch, but I knew turning away would only help me...but not really cause in my mind I could still see her.” Podrick exhales deeply. Sansa understands all too well the feeling of that death...the separation of self that is needed in order to survive. Silence follows for a spell.

Podrick clears his voice. “The next day I went to the house early, and I found her. She was very unsure of me. It took almost 2 moons of visits before she would tell me anything about herself. Before then she just spend our visits sitting by a window, looking out past the bars. I learned she was of the North, though she was forbidden to say any more than that. After a while she was still willing to give me pieces. I learned her family was dead, and she the only survivor. She was well-read and like you...loved to sew...embroidery, I think she called it. I could tell...this was no common girl, but she wouldn’t tell me than that.” He shakes his head. “I started to bring her sewing tools, seems Baelish didn’t like his girls having any other hobby than their job. So, I would bring them and take them when I left. She always sewed the same image...she said so she would not forget.”

Sansa’s eyes began to mist. “I appreciate the need to have that one thing that ties you to everything you hold dear. Especially when all you have are memories. If it’s not too much to ask, you’ve shared so much, what image did she want to remember...what did she stitch?”

Podrick looks over to Sansa, that sad smile gracing his face. “It was the oddest thing. The colors were blue, grey, and white. It was a blue plate on white, with a grey...”

“...tressure...like a border of a shield...” Sansa whispered.

Both riders stopped their horses. They stared at each other in utter shock.

“You know image. It is of the North, but I have not seen it.” Podrick replies hurriedly.

“I know it well. Where is she? Where is Jayne?” Sansa is astounded. Podrick knew Jayne. Baelish put her to work in one of his houses. Oh, my gods...my dearest friend...what has become of you?

“You know Jayne...you know her?” Podrick demands...voice laced with amazement.

“She was my best friend. After my father’s household was killed she and I spent our last night together in my room, before she was taken by Littlefinger. I should have known where he would have taken her...once I knew of his true self. Where is she Pod?”

“I snuck her out of Kings Landing, and rode her out to Rosby. I had a friend who told me that after the death of the Lord and the lack of heir, that the merchant town still continued to function without said Lord. I was able, through that friend, get her a position in one of the merchant houses. Her gift with a needle and her knowledge of letters and numbers, were more than the merchant’s wife could hope for. While I remained in Kings Landing, we shared correspondence, but then I left with Ser Brienne...” he trailed off. “I was able to send her a raven once we were in Winterfell.”

“Did she reply back?” Sansa asked desperately.

“Yes. She still works for the merchant and his wife. Both in their home and at their store.” He smiled; relief evident in his face. “I am happy she is doing well. She haunts me still...first because of her circumstance, now because I...”

“Now you...” Sansa pushes.

“I miss her. Very much so.” He declares, quietly.

Sansa ponders all this unexpected information. Jayne...oh Jayne, Podrick...

Sansa reaches over to grab Podrick’s hand. “If you believe that she is safe where she is, then stay with me until I am settled. But as soon as I give you leave; you must go to her...and bring her home. Tell her I want her to come home. She never has to leave the North ever again.” Voice cracking, tears spilling, Sansa voices to Podrick.

Eyes bathed with tears of his own, Podrick nods at Sansa...and together they continue in silence.

***

In the distance Sansa can see the outlines of buildings that once made this a powerful outpost once upon a time. As they get closer Podrick remarks that darkness is coming faster than they had expected, and warns her to make haste in their preparations for the evening. Agreeing, they decide that staying in what remains of the stables was best...as it kept them close to the horse should they needed to flee. While not many people travel this far North, it doesn’t hurt to be diligent just in case. Horses would be good reason to take a reckless chance. They work together in companionable silence. Sansa checks the loft above the horses, seeming secure, she asks Podrick to hand her their sleeping blankets. Preparing their spaces for the night, she climbs down the loft’s ladder and walks to her bags. Pulling out dried bear meat, dried barley, a carrot, and a small bag of spices, she begins preparing for their supper. “I can get the fire going, if you want to collect some ice.” She tells Podrick, seeing that he has just finished tending to the horses.

“Aye. As much as last time?” He queries, a smirk shadowing his lips. Sansa laughs out loudly. “Gods, no!” she smiles, thinking of the last time Podrick returned with packed snow. He brought enough to make a small snow-fort. Knowing the man has spent many years traveling with Brienne, she knew he knew how to cook for himself in a pinch, but she had seemed more serious than usual...and like a good friend, he went out of his way to make her laugh. She sees him nod in understanding, as she makes quick work of their meal. 

After their evening meal, Sansa walk to a tower, careful as she climbs up to the balcony. Her mind is still a muddled mess knowing now of Jayne and Podrick’s past. Her dear friend. No one deserves to be ripped so violently from their life and thrusted into another where one lacks the rudimentary skills to survive. In many ways, their lives were paralleled. 

She looks in what she thinks is the direction of Castle Black. So close. Thinking of what is next to come, she does not doubt that Tormund will grant her refuge in the North. She has thought that maybe one day she could go to Craster’s Keep. Since Gilly’s father has long been dead, perhaps only Gilly’s sister’s remain. Sansa would think they would like to know how she had faired. 

It was a question she had about her own sister for so many years. Then she thinks back at Sam’s thoughts on the matter...the Night King may have taken what remained of the Craster women. She would inquire though...she had to. If there was one still alive, then Gilly deserved to have a reunion of her own. 

Her mind returns her to what she needs to prepare for this third installment of her plans, exhaustion hits her, and she decides to return to the stables. As her mind drift to a close, the last image she conjures is her standing before a heavily fur-lined tent, looking out over the water, snow surrounding her, cold biting at her nose, but it’s what she feels on the inside that leaves her smiling, wherever this is, Sansa is happy and...free.

***

The sounds of the horses feeding alerts Sansa to the start of the day. Looking over she sees that Podrick is not there. Climbing down from the loft, she sets out to find him. “Pod?”

“Over here. I thought I’d head into that wooded area, see if maybe we can add to our ‘stores’.” He jokes.

Sansa sees him with his bow and quiver...arrows sharpened, and ready. “I will join you. Just give me a minute.” Sansa hastily rinses her face with the water she warmed, but didn’t uses for the night’s dinner, gathering her own bow and quiver, she catches up with Podrick. Together they make quick time of it, Podrick finding two large winter hares, and Sansa catching three snow shrikes. Podrick comments on the irony that she seems to be an excellent shot at killing birds, he deadpans over to her...the sister of the Three Eyed Raven. Carrying their game back to their base, Sansa laughs at the dry humor Podrick produces with easy.

***

It has been two days since they have left Queenscrown. The sun is low in the sky before she see it. There it stands, just as imposing as it did so long ago...and just like before her fear warried with hope that salvation laid beyond its walls. With a gentle nudge, her mount trots to the keep, warning horns blare, the large imposing doors slowly open, riding through the gate like she had before, Sansa Stark is once again within the protection of Castle Black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooooo my heart goes out to Jayne Poole. She has such a horrendous story in the books, and I wanted to her to have a hero of her own...and that hero was Pod. A big sorry to all the readers that hoped Sansa and Pod would get together. 
> 
> Now Pod is important to Sansa's development in a sense. I want Sansa to experience men as people who will not always go out of their way to use or hurt her. I am trying to introduce men into her world that provide her the opportunity to trust that gender again. Pod is more like a brother-figure than anything...her Robb. 
> 
> So, she's finally at CB. What do you think will happen next? I think we can pass the time with your speculations, since Jon's chapter isn't till Friday.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and don't forget to subscribe or send some kudos this way :)


	19. Jon VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon travels to Winterfell. He thinks about his childhood and his parentage. Jon begins to sort through his feelings for Sansa, and past events are reframed from his perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon's back...
> 
> I know he's a favorite for some of you, and for others...well, not so much. 
> 
> Nevertheless, here he his...
> 
> I own nothing, and remember to keep comments constructive.

The moment in the day, where the sky begins to reveal the blue hidden during the night, is when Jon Snow, no, Targaryen finds himself beginning his day. Targaryen. The name continues to be ill-fitted, but factually correct. He is a true-born Targaryen. Jon finds the advice he once gave to Theon harder to accept for himself, when the father his true father was Rhaegar Targaryen. 

Jon feels the wakeful restlessness of his companion, and it pulls him out of his thoughts. Looking over to see Daenerys looking at him, a small smile on her lips. Now that is a Targaryen, he thinks. Silver-blonde hair, purple eyes, fair skin. Jon is as far from a Targaryen as he could possibly imagine. Leaning over her, he runs his hand through her hair, lowering himself to steal one more kiss before he departs. He loves her and part of him is torn for leaving now, but he needs to leave. He just hopes Sansa can see his return for the sincerity in his gesture. 

Pulling away from Daenerys, Jon knows he should feel wrong to kiss one woman while thinking of another, but he doesn’t. It’s not a habit he makes, but sometimes his thoughts of them bleed into his reality, he just makes the effort to ensure that neither woman is aware. He is yet to know if he is successful. He thinks he might be as Dany has warmed to him. Jon helps Dany dress and she walks to the courtyard, standing at the top of the stairs. Jon can feel her eyes on him as he mounts his horse. His cloak adjusted to flank the sides of the animal and his legs. It is one of the many cloaks Sansa made for him. He wears it with pride, the wolves on the straps a testament to their house, the quality of the stitching...a testament to Sansa’s skill...and affection...her love. Turning to see Daenerys once more, taking in the picture of this woman burgeoning with his child, her face composed, smile tight...but genuine, eyes misted, standing beside Tormund, and surrounded by her Unsullied. He knows she is safe here. They stare in silence for a spell. He watches her take a deep breath, straighten her back, and gesture for him to take his leave.

***

Jon is familiar with the route from Castle Black to Winterfell. The most direct way is to follow the Kings Road. Jon rides his stallion hard, trying to shave days off of the fortnight long journey. His decision to travel alone was intentional. He didn’t want to be delayed by traveling with escorts. He’ll ride hard and sleep rough, and do it all over again, just to get closer to Winterfell...to get closer to her.

As Jon nears to his childhood home, he contemplates about his upbringing. Thinking he was the bastard son of the liege lord...a bastard. His whole life was made increasingly harder and crueler because of a label that wasn’t ever true. The man who raised him through servants, wasn’t really his father at all, but his uncle. Jon is not sure why his uncle chose to make him _HIS_ bastard...he could have been the bastard of his Uncle Brandon or a random babe he found on his travel home, and kept in his protection as a ward...it was not unheard of, then maybe Catelyn would have had some kindness for the boy he was...the words of others, possibly less cruel. 

As Jon separates his feelings, he could see the difficult position Eddard Stark was placed in. Jon could thank his...uncle...for protecting his life. He just wished he had told him the truth of it all before Jon made the choice to take the Black. That is what Jon struggles with...that the man who he thought was his father, would maintain a lie that allowed him to give up his life eternal to the Night’s Watch, knowing he wasn’t a bastard. Perhaps Jon would still have joined, but at least he would have made a decision with all the information necessary. Part of his desire to take the Black was because he thought as a bastard, that was the only path left to him. Clearly...it was not.

***

As the day draws to an end, Jon provides water, food, and a night of rest for his steed. Too tired to do much else he eats some dried deer and bread...washing it all down with water of his own. Jon leans against a log his body close to the small fire he drew just an hour before, leeching as much heat as he can. This clearing is familiar to him, this was the first place they camped when he and Sansa traveled to meet with Ramsey Bolton. Jon can see them all there now in his mind’s eye. Brienne, Podrick, and Ser Davos each laying down, a respectful distance apart...the fire separating Jon and Sansa’s bedrolls from theirs. Jon was laying on his back, staring at the night sky and wondering if this would be the end for him. His last campaign...would he really die this time. He turned his head to see Sansa on her side, her red hair over her shoulder, she looks to him, eyes blue like the tip of a flame. Jon thought if he could purge the Bolton’s in the efforts to get Sansa back home, then his death would be worth it. Grey bled into blue, a warm ungloved hand rested over his heart...the same place where Olie struck him, and an unexpected warmth...that seems to have left him since his ‘death’, grew from below her hand and spread all through him, till he felt his core loosen and sleep take him.

Many nights followed much the same way. Jon learned so much about Sansa’s time with the Lannister’s, Baelish, and Bolton’s. Each chapter of her story ghastlier than the next. He could tell she was hesitant to share too much about Baelish and Bolton, but Jon was able to hear what she didn’t say. The rage that would threaten to appear had to be checked and held at bay, for he knew that if any violent anger were to manifest itself then she could withdraw from him. No, he would direct his violence towards those who deserved it. Sensing when she felt too raw and too vulnerable, Jon returned the trust and spoke to her his time beyond the Wall...Craster’s Keep, Jeor Mormont, his Brothers, Ygritte, and Mance Rayder, Tormund...the Free Folk...the Night King. 

They learned more about each other in the months leading to the battle for Winterfell than they had ever known of each other when they were thought to be half-siblings of Eddard Stark. Jon learned that Sansa was cautious and careful, but observant. She learned to be calculated if she wanted make it out of every new experience alive. She found ways, as a woman raised to be the consummate Lady, to endure and push aside her pride...even when those choices came at a cost of her honor. She was used, and in turn, was educated in the art of using others...exploiting all she had learned in the efforts not succumb to a horrific demise. She quietly fought for years, changing her tactics to address each adversary as they appeared, and survived all those who had misjudge her as compliant, her presence a daily reminder of her will to survive. 

Jon knows that they both understood more than the facts that made up their experiences. They began to recognize how those experiences shaped them...their likes, dislikes, what motivated them, what scared them, what their natures turned out to be. All the things he knew about Robb, Arya, and Bran...even Little Rickon. He never knew Sansa in this way...until now, and in these moments Jon can admit to himself that is when he began to fall in love with her. He is hard-pressed to deny that he is very attracted to her: ability to take deliberate risk, the depths of her strength, her unawareness of her own bravery, and her way of thinking...when she chooses to reveal it.

***

The next morning Jon stops for a moment at The Last Hearth. His thoughts go back to the boy lord of House Umber. Thinking of the world they live in, why did he leave this child to rule on his own...knowing the lawlessness that can reside in some men. Much like Bran had been left, so many years ago. When the young Lord Umber told Sansa of the reasons why his people had not arrived to Winterfell, confused as to the propriety of title and honors, Jon realizes he sent this unprepared young lord back to a keep for him and his people to be killed in the most ghastly of ways, only to be violated in death, to die more than once. How he failed him and the people of The Last Hearth...he’s ever more determined not to repeat that same mistake. If the realm agrees, never will a child be forced to lead...taking on such a responsibility.

***

Turning back to the Kings Road, Jon’s mind returns back to the day he returned to Winterfell with Daenerys. He knew his bannermen would not be pleased by his choice to bend the knee...but after living away from the expectations of ruling, he was brutally thrusted back to face the consequences of his actions...and rightfully so. Lyanna Mormont’s words burned him with shamed still, “You’re Grace? But you’re not. Are you? You left Winterfell a King, but came back...I’m not sure what you are now. My Lord? Nothing at all.”

Reflecting on it now, he doesn’t think he hid his pained grimace at her words. Jon thought he could stem further argument, he did not want to have this conversation there, not in front of Daenerys and her people. He knew it had to be done, but he had hoped to stave it off until they could speak privately. But when he told Lady Mormont that it was not important, he guaranteed that discreet conversation was not to be. _“Not important...We named you King in the North...”_ Jon can still hear the angry rambles of his bannermen, rising as the moments passed. Jon looked over to Sansa, all these months she has been the primary liaison between him and the people, looking to see if she had any unspoken advice on how to move forward, he takes in her expression. At first she continues to look ahead, he knows she can see him looking to her, as the voices rise, Sansa turns to him...and he could hear it all, all the things she would not voice in public. For the first time in a long time, Jon wished Sansa would just say her piece as she is wont to do...but now, she remains silent in her fury. Her eyes saying, _“She is right...we named you King in the North. Now since you’ve decided, on your own, to give our home away so you can defend yourself, on your own.”_ Jon hadn’t felt this distant from Sansa since they were children. Since their reunion, even during the most heated disagreements against their bannermen and each other, she has never left him feeling alone.

Knowing he had to address his people, he admitted to the pride he felt at the honor of his title, but he reminded them of his first and foremost promise, and that was to protect the north...no matter the cost. He repeated his words that he chose the North. Tyrion’s attempts to explain to the Northern bannermen of his attempts to convince the South of the threat, and to bring home the largest army ever seen, didn’t completely endear him to his people. Jon looked over at Dany when Tyrion mentioned the army, his body leaning towards her. Filtering that memory with a clearer lens, he knows that he looked to Dany because he was too craven to look towards Sansa. He, a man willing to battle the army of the dead and their king, could not face the woman who sat beside him, and cowardly found shelter in the support of another...rather than face the wrongness of his deed...not in getting the support, no he was right to do that, but in giving their home away when to do so was not obligatory. He earned Sansa’s...and his bannermen’s ire, and he had no right to find comfort in another, when before him was a situation of his own creation. 

Every interaction henceforth, he found either Sansa made herself unavailable or in when it was mandatory to be in his presence, she avoided his eyes, his attempt at conversation. She wanted nothing to do with him. When it could not be avoided any longer he sought her out in her solar. Walking into her room, he wasn’t sure how to start to the long overdue discussion, but she created a much-needed opening when she told him of Lord Glover’s decision to remain in Deepwood Motte. Jon was so angry, the damn Glover’s, but Sansa’ defense of them startled him back to the conversation at hand. _“I will stand behind Jon Snow, he said”_ She turns back to him with that piercing gaze that saw too much. _“ The King in the North.”_

In that moment I forgot that she knew me, I thought if I could handle her as I handled my bannermen we could move past this. I reminded Sansa that I didn’t want the crown, that all I cared about was giving the North the best chance for survival. _“I brought two armies home with me...two dragons."_

And with her words, she lays the real conversation on the table, _“And a Targaryen Queen.”_ Jon can admit that at the time, he didn’t want to talk about Dany...he still wanted to keep their lives separate, and he foolishly thought if they had survived the Night King, then he wouldn’t stay in the North with Sansa. He couldn’t. Jon had planned to leave with Dany, partly because he loved her, but also Jon found it increasingly hard to be near Sansa and keep his want to act on his love for of her at bay...not when she had no qualms revealing her own longings with her masked words, gestures, and deeds when they were alone away from prying eyes. Gods that a fool he was...blindness being his own ruin, because in the end the truth changed everything for him, never thinking Sansa could ever be a possibility. He told Dany he felt less conflicted, and that he had not acted on these feelings. The truth was so much was happening after the battle against the Night King that there was very little time for Jon to do anything else but to plan to march South...for if there was, Jon would have acted on the difference. He can concede that not acting on his feelings didn’t mean he had not planned to...given the time to do so. 

Returning to the memory, deflecting with an argument that Jon could control he asks her if she really thought they could win against the army of the dead. She had no idea of what was to come, none. Sansa had never seen the dead, and if he could prevent it...she never would, but he knew that couldn’t be. He reminds Sansa that he had fought them. Jon is also cognizant that he gave, the kingdom he asked her to rule and protect in his absence, away. He reminds her that none of the titles matter...though deep in his heart he knew that not to be true. He knew it well enough that he could not bring himself to look her in the eye when he said so. _“Without her, we don’t stand a chance.”_ What Jon hadn’t told her, and he should have, was of Dany’s plans...how he thought a different type of rule, that could have benefitted the many, would be the best way to protect the North after the war. But he didn’t want to go deeper into this vein of conversation because to do so would eventually alert Sansa to his intimate relationship with the Targaryen woman. He thought at the time that nothing constructive could have come out of that discussion. Now he recognizes that he did just as his Uncle and Dany once did to him...he took Sansa’s free choice away when he decided to withhold information that would have allowed her to make a judgement...in this instance, it would have been on the importance of supporting Daenerys as she fought for a new kind of rulership, a rulership that would have provide more safety than he could as the king of a single independent kingdom. 

Silence followed. Her eyes. All he could remember was the look in her eyes. Every word seemed to wound her more. It is not that Jon held Daenerys at a higher esteem, for that was not true, he just wanted Sansa to see...feelings aside, that they needed Dany and he had done the right thing to bring her. Both of them breathing quietly, but hard. They always get stirred up this way. Their sparring always leading to prolonged looks that speak more volumes than Maester Luwin’s series on _The Comportment of Prudence and Honor_. It took all his self-control not to pull her to him. Not to comfort her, for all she felt was laid bare for him to use against her, just as she had been taught all men were known to do. Knowing that we had to be pulled out of this maelstrom we always seem to find ourselves in, breaking the connection by looking away, I asked her if she had any faith in me at all. 

I could see the honesty in her eyes when she said, _“You know I do.” _ What I didn’t understand at the time was that Sansa had faith in me...in that I believed things to be true, and never before did I make the effort to clarify what about my words was she willing to believe without evidence. After all she has experienced, Sansa deals in realities, not the theoretical. What was reaffirmed, for me, was that Sansa did not always trust me. A hard lesson learned, faith and trust are not equitable, and one is a fool to ever think that they are. After I discovered it was she who shared my secret with another, its only then that it occurred to me that Sansa trust in herself was stronger than her faith in me. It wounded to confess that Sansa distrusts me, that I have made her feel unsafe, that I am unreliable in her eyes, but it is a self-created reality that I have made for myself. What’s truly conflicting is that while I am angered at her betrayal, she wasn’t wrong in her assertion of Daenerys. Making it difficult to sort out what or who he is mad at the most, his narrowmindedness resulting in his inability to validate her concerns and being wrong or her for lying to him and being right...seeds of the poisonous fruit. 

Jon decided to break for a meal, and to rest his horse. Returning his thoughts back to that ill-fated conversation. Bracing himself with less confidence than he felt, standing before Sansa he told her that Dany _“...would be a good queen, for all of us. She is not her father.” _ I had to tell Sansa that I had given her role away, when I gave away my own. It was imperative that she understood that. I know Sansa heard what I didn’t say, she looked down, her concerted effort to control her expressions most noticeable to him. He thought when she look him in the eyes and softly smiled when she spoke of Daenerys beauty as compared to her fathers, that they had begun to broker an understanding of sorts. For things will never be easy between them. The unnatural feelings that linger would never allow it to be so, he thought maybe they could always hold affection for one another even if they never could be, and they could hold good intentions for the other...both deserving of some ‘good’ in our lives if we could not have it with each other. That belief made Jon smile warmly at the bittersweet thought. In hindsight, Jon reasons the smile may have been ill-timed and misinterpreted. 

Then Sansa reminded Jon once again of how well she knew him when she asked, _“Did you bend the knee to save the North or because you love her?” _ Jon looked up and he wondered if Sansa knew of Daenerys decision to come North without his swearing fealty. In that moment, Jon guilt for giving away Sansa’s realm, for it was hers too, slammed into him...and all he could hope was that the guilt didn’t show in his eyes. The revelation of such would be the undoing of all he had hoped to accomplish... 

Jon could not answer her. Once again his silence spoke for him. Turning away and walking out of her chambers was what he did. His actions spoke a simple ‘_yes’_, but the answer was much more complex than that. Instead of walking out of the door, I should have told Sansa the reasons why I thought Daenerys would have made a good queen. I should have told her about Dany’s purpose for creating a world where people can live the best versions of their lives without fear of being subjugated. If he had, then Sansa would have asked questions, perhaps sparked questions of his own, and together they could have come to an agreement on the well-being of the North...which translated to Sansa’s own security. If he had, then she wouldn’t have had to move against him. Jon knows the roots of Sansa’s greatest fears, and he ripped her protection away when he yielded the North to Daenerys, leaving Sansa bare. The worst of it was that in his discomfiture, he never once gave her peace of mind. Jon knows Sansa, he does, and he understands that he created complications by not communicating with her. She always needs information to feel safe, to plan for the unexpected, and he disregarded what he knew she needed because it was he was not ready to address the complication his relationship with Dany brought to his relationship with Sansa. 

Then once his parentage was revealed, Sansa was the first person he wanted to speak too, not because it changed thing...even though it did, but at that time Jon knew he wanted to tell Sansa because she knew he had so many questions about his mother. After a time, they were able to speak freely of Jon’s desire to know who she was. Sansa had considered that maybe if her mother knew who bore Jon, then maybe Catelyn Stark could have let go some of her resentment, knowing that the woman he lost his honor for would never cause him to lose it again. Jon thought that to be wishful of Sansa, his own understanding of the depths of Catelyn Stark’s hatred for him was pronounced and without question. Sansa even speculated potential women who she heard were rumored to be with Ned Stark, around the time Jon would have been conceived...women such as Ashara Dayne. But he had not sought Sansa out because he was still trying to make sense of it all...his father was not the man he thought and lied to him his whole life, his mother not much older than a girl...a different Stark...was always here in Winterfell, his true father was a man Jon held in low regard, and that father’s sister was his current lover. 

Then Dany caught him off guard in the crypt. He had not planned to tell her first. That was never his intention...he was just trying to catch his bearings, and there she was, and in his effort to give her an explanation for why he had been so withdrawn...he told her. Never would he have thought that she would demand he keep silent. Not when the bigger issue was the closeness of their relations. But all she spoke of was how this knowledge affected her claim to the Iron Throne. Before anymore could be said, the Night King had arrived, the battle, the losses...it was just all too much for him to handle. And when he thought himself ready to acknowledge it to his family, Dany gave him her ultimatum. He refused to be cowed by her demands. His secret changed everything for him_...everything..._

The day that he was to depart, he finally shared his secret with the Stark women, he hoped Sansa would understand. He told them that he was in love, and that it was complicated, but that he could admit that he loved someone. He told them that he felt like he should step away from her because it was the honorable thing to do, but he didn’t know if he wanted to live without the warmth her love brings to him. He could see past the blood relations...thinking then that our grandparents were cousins, but not sharing that thought. I asked if this would pose a difficulty for them, for Jon wanted to try and act as the decent man his ‘uncle’ raised him to be. Arya, ever loyal told him told him what he had always known, that they would always remain close. Bran in his very odd way told him to follow his instinct...which for Jon ,was to pursue who he wanted. It was Sansa’s response that left him discouraged and told him plenty, _“I wish you and your Queen Daenerys every happiness.”_ She turned and walked away before Jon could break away from the remaining Starks under the weirwood. Jon doesn’t know if Sansa truly didn’t understand that he was speaking of her or was his decision to give the North to Daenerys too much for her to forgive and overlook. All Jon did know was part of his heart just walked out of the Godswood, and he didn’t know if there was a chance to get it back. 

He tried to find her, but had always been very adept at eluding him when she wants. He knew he couldn’t postpone his departure any further...his men were waiting for him. Never expecting the taking of Kings Landing to be what it was, Jon thought he would come back and find Sansa...clear the confusion she may have about his feelings, and clarify some confusion of his own. But nothing had gone according to plan once the sacking of Kings Landing became a reality. 

Climbing back onto his horse, he commands his steed into a gallop to make up for some lost time. As he flies across the white barrenness of the North, Jon acknowledges he has made many mistakes and follies, and leaving Sansa Stark alone with her misunderstanding of his feelings for her was one of the worst. Wishing it were different but knowing the reality he left behind, he accepts that whatever reception that awaits him in Winterfell will be of own making...and all he can do is accept it as it comes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm scared to even ask...
> 
> Please accept my apologies for any typo...I just could not re-read this chapter any more. I think my eyes have crossed.


	20. Daenerys VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys gets to learn a little bit more about the Free Folk and their customs. She talks with Tormund and he introduces Dany to what female leadership looks like among his people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have added 3 original characters, so I will change the tags to reflect that. One character was inspired by Karsi...ugh, I was heartbroken to see her die. 
> 
> On a personal note, I was floored by the amount of supportive comments that came out of the last post. I was deeply touched and very encouraged. Thank you so much for staying with this story. ❤️🤗
> 
> As always...keep comments productive!
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Daenerys felt the shift in the air when Jon rode out of the gates of Castle Black. She is torn about his reasons for leaving. Dany is far enough removed from the events of Kings Landing that she, like most times in the aftermath of her temper getting ahead of her, she can begrudgingly see the situation with a bit more clarity. In hindsight, Daenerys knows she was wrong to destroy the Capital. She was wrong. All the reasons she gave Jon before seem to pale in the face of her choosing a path that would have resulted in a different outcome. She could have stopped once she heard the bells. She could have fled on Drogon’s back, letting her army collect Cersei’s forces. They could have secured the city, and she could have taken Cersei, to make the woman face a trial for her crimes. Many people earned the right to see Cersei’s demise...more deserved it more than she. 

No...instead she let her emotions cloud her judgement. If the past her emotions had worked in her favor, but not this time. When she shared this disappointment in herself with Jon, he had told her how his own emotions made him act to save Rickon Stark. Even though he had been warned that Ramsey Bolton would have planned to exploit Jon’s emotions, even if they did not know in which way, he had been aware and still it mattered very little in the face of all his feelings. His decision to follow his fury had changed his carefully constructed battle plans, and launched his small army into a fight they had very little chance of winning outside. In his fear he lost control of his awareness...and while their fears were different...fear for herself...and their child versus his fear for this brother, it still cost many people their lives. His words stayed with her afterwards, “Dany, people in power...whether it be a man or a woman, are still just people. We are flawed with all the strengths and weaknesses that plague the common folk. In the end we are all the same...we are all common because we are all human. The difference lies in our actions affecting just us in isolation versus the masses suffering the consequences.”

Human...common...she hadn’t thought of herself as being one of the people in a long time, if ever...really. As a child she was raised to be above it all, even though her survival came at the calculated generosity of others, but even then there was a level of privilege that protected her from experiencing the difficulties of the lowborn who served the wealthy patrons she resided with. It wasn’t until she married Drogo, that she began to see that power did not always mean wealth of gold, but rather in pride, honor, physical strength, and skill in battle. Where people were an alternate type of currency. Since every slave seemed content, and she was once again protected from the realities of how slaves were truly treated among the Dothraki, she had no qualms with it...since ‘her people’ had no issue with it. It wasn’t until she met the witch...the rapes...that’s when she learned the human cost to slavery, and she paid a heavy price to learn that lesson. 

Over the years she built her empire, and she began to become removed from the people she once walk amongst. She had Qhono...and he represented the embodiment of the Dothraki people for her, but one person cannot always represent the feelings of the many. Dany knows she feels deeply about injustices forced on people who have not warranted such treatment. She had dedicated her life to removing the source of oppression that binds them to such misery and yet, she can be very heavy handed in her response to such inequalities...clearly to the point where she is seen as a savior to one group of people but can seem like a tyrant to another.

Daenerys continues with her thoughts, when she hears a loud knock at her door. It looks to be about early evening, perhaps her dinner has arrived. “Enter.” In short order she sees one of Jon’s Northmen...and older man sworn to house...Manderly, no...Hornwood. She notices this House sigil on his breastplate. Beyond him stood one of her Unsullied guards and Tormund. “Your Grace. Tormund Giantsbane and company to see you.” 

Dany stands up quickly, slightly off her gait. “Welcome Tormund...Ladies.”

“Aye, Queenie. Since we all have to break off of for an early dinner, I thought I would bring a few of the Free Folk to share a meal with you...perhaps continue our previous talks.” The big man walks in with a basket. She sees three women...each with either with a basket, drinking skins, or sitting stools. One of them the midwife that checked her over, the other two she had seen about the keep, speaking with Jon, but they had not yet been formally introduced.

“I appreciate your thought of me. Thank you for bringing the meal. I could have had my guards procure it. Please have a seat.” She was disconcerted, their visit unexpected. The room felt a bit smaller than before...which was not saying much as the room was not very large at the start. 

One woman spoke, she had long brown hair that was plaited, an older woman, but her voice reminded her of Arya Starks...very direct with a hint of judgment. “Why? Is there a reason you can’t get your own food? What is there for you to do here? A walk to get your own sup seems like something you could do to get out of these bloody rooms...good for the babe as well.” The Free Folk begin to settle around the table in the room, food coming out of the basket, drinking skins passed about.

Daenerys was taken aback by the forwardness of the woman. Very few people, really if ever, have spoken to her this way. She struggles with not getting upset at the abruptness of it all. Yet if she takes a minute to think about it, what she asked wasn’t offensive in the least. It’s that delivery...a very Northern trait it seems...they make her limited exchanges with Sansa Stark...seem downright friendly in comparison. In all fairness, she knows she can be abrupt in her speech as well, but as a queen...a woman leading in a world of men, she finds that she had to learn that particular trait and it has served her well. She thinks about her answer, but remains quiet too long.

“It’s cause she’s a queen. She has kneelers bring her what she wants. It’s their way.” The second woman with loose blond, yet graying hair answered frankly...her statement said more like an observation than a criticism. The woman takes a bite of her bread, looking earnestly at Daenerys...almost as if she expects Dany to agree with her evaluation.

Dany looks towards the woman who just spoke, “That isn’t true, at least not of me. I don’t expect people to just give me what I want. I have worked hard for my achievements, and my gains were not motivated by selfishness, but rather by selflessness once I became aware of the hardships of the people around me.”

“Is that so? Is that fact or your truth? Sometimes facts and our truths follow the same path, but other times they diverge and we do not see it until perhaps it’s a little too late.” The midwife with very curly black hair, asked gentle, though the words pierced her, bringing her pain.

Daenerys looked at the three women and then turned her glance to Tormund. “Is this what leadership looks like among your people? Do you see challenge in every person’s good intentions, if they do not match up with your own?”

Tormund strokes his beard, looking more serious than Daenerys could ever recall from their time in Winterfell. “Do we feel the need to challenge, no, but why do you see challenge when others question your decisions...especially when your decisions impact someone else. Where you see it as a hinderance we see it as seeking understanding. The more we understand how someone else’s plan will affect us, the better we are a determining if your plan is right for us. It is an individual choice I suppose...but a common expectation among the Free Folk. The free choice to determine our way...well it’s all we know.”

“What we also know is that people who lead, but expect abeyance without question are dangerous to the follow. For if I do not know the ‘why’ of what I am asked to do...it is not for others to accept accountability for my actions. That chore belongs only to me. You are not absolved from the consequences of your actions just because you do it in the name of another. We own our choices, but we will be damned if we do not seek information first.” The first woman spoke. Dany could find genuineness in those words. 

“Please excuse my manners. I have been remised in our introductions. Please call me Daenerys, and you are?” Dany asked. 

“I am Yailan. This here is Hindya,...” she points to the woman with the braided hair, “... and you know Freyla.” The older blonde made the introduction for the women. 

“I appreciate you taking the time to spend your meal with me...to discuss...I...” she exhales quickly. Trying to gather her thoughts once again. What did she want from these women? What could she learn from them? She was a Queen...all in her own right. But then she thought of Sansa...not understanding why, since she only thinks of the woman in relation to Jon, but then she remembers Yohn Royce and Theon...and their devotion to her. She was no queen, not formally so, but she had endeared herself to others so that they would fight for her. Perhaps there were things she could learn....or things she once knew how to do but had forgotten. Dany knows she is a good person and so are her intentions, but if she wants to avoid creating enormous misfortunes then she needs to learn how to adjust herself faster than she currently does. 

Continuing on, “I have found it difficult to be receptive of speech that seems dismissive to my own ideas, but I am aware of these weaknesses, and I aim to improve this flaw. Therefore, I would be in your gratitude if you would allow me the chance to learn more about the valuable traits you have cultivated for yourselves as women in power among your people.” Daenerys forces a smile, not feeling very secure in this meeting.

“Are you sure you are ready for that?” Hindya asked, eyes cool, but a smirk gracing her lips. 

“Yes. I am. Now ask me if I am looking forward to it...well that would require a very different response.” The Free Folk laugh and chuckle at her response, but she felt that they were amused with her self-depreciation, rather than laughing at her. It was the first time, that Dany could recall that she began to feel comfortable around people, aside from Jon...who were not her own. 

The conversation held throughout the meal was informative. Daenerys could reason that it seemed as though the rules for men, in regards to acquiring leadership roles, were the same for women. The both must be smart, assertive, and clever enough to outmaneuver an opponent...whether by brute force or wit...this was how their leaders commanded respect.

“Not all people take to being a leader. Not all people desire the task or are meant to hold such as position. As a people we are meanable to this, just as long as you can take care of yourself. Men or women...it doesn’t matter. We learn how to hunt, cook, stitch, build a home.” Freyla shares.

“...and fight...” Hindya adds. “It is the order of things in our world. Life is very difficult for us, but we are all given the fighting chance to survive...if we are able to master those skills we stand a strong likelihood for existence. So, there is very little need for the kind of leadership the South seems so fond of. ”

“It looks like you come with some skills of your own Daenerys. You have your people...from across the sea...Essos, right? They choose to follow you. What did it take for you to make that happen?” Yailan asked. 

Daenerys was slightly taken aback by the question. No one on Westeros has ever asked her about her story...about how she won the Unsullied and Dothraki to her cause. “Well I freed my Unsullied...after I purchased them from their Masters. I purchased them all...so none would have to serve another again. Then I told them to take their vengeance, and that they could go wherever they wanted, but they chose to stay with me. Many of my people came to me because I spared them from being enslaved. The Dothraki were attained differently. They took me in as a girl, when I married my first husband...he was a Great Khal. After his death, many left us, but a few dedicated remained with me. It was by random coincidence, though my friend Missandei would call it fate, I was brought to a convening of the great hordes. After being threatened to serve as either a whore or live my life with a group of widowed Khalessi, I decided neither option was my destiny, so I burned them all. The horde was there. They saw me walk out of the hut as it was consumed in fire, and I untouched. Fire and I have always shared a unique understanding of each other. It is the dragon inside that allows me to sustain it. The Dothraki, like the Free Folk, follow strength. My people follow me for different reasons...one for freedom granted and one because of the power I wield. Regardless, they all follow me because they choose too.”

“So, you didn’t go to them with the intention of taking anything?” Freyla inquires. “I ask because I was curious about the rumors I heard in Winterfell of you coming to Westeros.”

Daenerys looks over to Tormund. She knows he has more information about what took place in the South...what took place with...Jon. His face ceaseless of support or scorn...neutral. 

“I did come to Westeros with the intent of taking the Iron Throne. The people of Westeros have suffered too long at the hands of tyrants...from families that do not care about those they deemed beneath them. I wanted to change all that.” Daenerys cautiously retorts. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk...and here I thought we were having a bit of honest conversation.” Hindya chides. “I think you’re leaving something out, if you know what I mean. You seem to make it a habit of freeing people that were slaves. True slavery...but to my knowledge Westeros doesn’t have slavery. Its punishable by death...so of all the places you could have gone to, why here? It had to be more than the Gods bringing you here to fight the Night King...they’d be no real purpose for you otherwise.”

Daenerys stills. How does she tell them that coming here was her destiny when they don’t believe in hereditary power? “I was born in Westeros...on Dragonstone. My family had been the Kings and Queens for 300 years. It was all lost due to betrayal. My family was betrayed and we lost it all. I feel it is my duty to claim it back. To be a good Targaryen Queen...the one the people of Westeros needed but were denied.”

There is silence that follows Dany’s last words. Until Hindya asked, “So your father was the King? Was he a good King? Did he teach you how to be a good leader?”

Dany quietly laughs to herself, “No. He was not a good king. We was not kind, nor just. They called him the Mad King. I guess his example taught me what not to be...” 

“So, the South got rid of a bad leader. I can’t blame them for that. They found something new. If that didn’t work for them, I’m guessing they’d get rid of that person too.” Yailan contributes.

Freyla looks Dany directly in the eyes, and asked, “So, you’ve come back to Westeros to take the South back because it belonged to your family. Didn’t seem like the people in Winterfell appreciated your intentions. You didn’t ask these people if they needed your help, nor does it seem like you could read whether they wanted your kind of assistance. Therein lies your bigger problem. People aren’t for taking...unless you’re looking to get married.” All the Free Folk nod their heads intently.

“The North did ask for my help.” Dany quickly replied. Feeling attacked by these questions. 

“To fight the dead...did they ask you to be their Queen?” Freyla countered back. 

Daenerys had no response to that question. She knew the North had not accepted her, and after her conversation with Jon about the true rulership in the North, she knew they never would have.

“How does Jon Snow fit into this? We know he went South, to you...to get your help. When he returned he was no longer their King...word was he bent the knee to you to secure your assistance. Looks like your aid came at a cost....one he was willing to pay, even if his people didn’t seem too keen on it. We all know what has happened in the deep South...we just don’t understand why it happened?” Yailan inquired.

Daenerys didn’t know how to explain what she fully didn’t understand herself. “I went South to reclaim the throne, and on my travel South I suffered great losses at the hands of Cersei. When I took Kings Landing, I saw how the people looked at me. They were afraid of me, and that was something I had never really encountered before. I thought of my child and how they would always be seen as a danger because of the Targaryen blood that courses through their veins. I though perhaps the best course would be to start over...it was a rash decision...one I now regret in hindsight.”

“They wouldn’t be all Targaryen. Jon is a Stark...bastard status aside.” Yailan remarks. 

Daenerys sees that Jon’s status has not become public knowledge yet to the Free Folk. She sends Tormund a questioning look. He shakes his head and waggles his bushy eyebrows at her. “Jon is my brother Rhaegar’s son with Lyanna Stark. So yes, this would make my child more Targaryen in so many ways.”

Utter shock develops in different phases between each woman. “Bloody Hell! He’s your nephew. You Southerners are way too fond of your family. Sheesh!” Hindya shouted. 

“We didn’t know...not until recently.” Dany defends. “And now it doesn’t really matter that much. Targaryens are known to marry siblings, so an aunt or nephew isn’t as close as it could be.”

“Well that will most definitely not be a tradition the Free Folk will be taken from the South.” Freyla laughs. 

“Even though close marriages are not typical among your people, this news doesn’t change how you see Jon.” Dany asked out of curiosity. 

“No, not really. The King Crow...well I reckon plenty are willing to overlook his more Southern leanings on account of the sacrifices he made to save us...when he didn’t have to. He tried to aid us only because it was the right thing to do, he only asked that we fight alongside him against the dead. Never did he demand that we fight for you though...in your Southern war, he knew it went against our way. Jon Snow has always been respectful of our boundaries, so to follow a fair person like that isn’t too much of a hardship...it’s a matter of principle.” Yailan countered. 

Daenerys ponders the woman’s words, finding it hard to disagree with choosing to follow such a person. She knews that the truth of such a person in existence, would threaten her right to rule. Jon was that individual for the Free Folk and the North, and shortly the whole of Westeros...though they did not know it yet. 

“I know a little of your kneeler ways from Mance Rayder’s tales. I take it your brother; King Crow’s father was obviously older. Wouldn’t that make Jon the head of your family? Wouldn’t that throne you fought for yourself really his?” Hindya looks at Daenerys, a challenge in her eyes, as if she’s waiting to see if Dany will answer to defend her actions or to admit that the throne was not hers to claim. 

Daenerys was silent, still, and chastened. To hear someone, describe her attempts to regain the throne for her House in such a way, once again drove the truth through her heart. She was not the heir. It was not her throne. Her destiny was not to be the ruling Targaryen Queen returned. Instead she sought to steal the seat from her brother’s son...a man deserving of it, a man that could take the taint of her father’s and brother’s devastating choices away from the Targaryen name. It seems as though the fates gave her refuge when Tormund drew attention away from her.

“Looks like it might be time to head out. We’ve been here long enough. I think we have left this Queen with a lot to consider.” Tormund stands up, the women taking the cue that the conversation was over. They rise to join him, walking towards the door. Hindya turns back to Daenerys before she passes the threshold, “You said you find it hard to see value in ideas that are contrary to your own. Perhaps Daenerys, it is time you start looking hard at those ideas of yours. Maybe the problem isn’t that people are disagreeing...mayhap the problems are your ideas. Might be time for you to begin to see your world the way it truly is, rather than the way you choose to see it.” 

Daenerys stares blindly towards the door as the Free Folk depart. She thought she had made peace with the truth of Jon’s parentage, but perhaps her inability to admit to the Free Folk that Jon had a better claim than she did, demonstrates that she isn’t as reconciled as she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I am bracing for impact. 🎯
> 
> Next up, Sansa...dunt, dunt, dunt...like those sound effects. I have a 4-day weekend ahead, so I might post her chapter a day or so earlier.
> 
> Thanks again for the 💌
> 
> Until next time...


	21. Sansa VII Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa sees a familiar friendly face. She offers the Frozen Shore Clan an opportunity in hopes that it will grant her sanctuary with them. Sansa and Daenerys meet for the first time since Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever appreciative of the support from readers, even when it takes you beyond your comfort zone.
> 
> I don't want to say too much about this chapter, but I feel like I should remind any reader that the perspectives from each chapter is one-sided...even though there are other much beloved characters in a scene. Over time I will attempt to show these secondary characters stances (whether on events in the South, how they feel about other characters, etc...).
> 
> Please note, Sansa lovers...brace yourselves. You have been warned. There is no way for these women to meet without emotions rising. 
> 
> Disclaimer...I own nothing.

The courtyard of Castle Black still looks the same as Sansa remembered of it. The sky held with a gray overcast, alerting the world that the day was coming to an end. All around the walls of the keep and courtyard, the fires had been lit in preparation for the night, and surrounded all around were curious onlookers who were taking stock of the two riders who entered the keep outfitted for the ‘True North’. Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa could see Podrick dismount from his horse, his eyes watchful, but not weary. Seeing fit to follow his lead, she carefully climbed off her horse, her eyes scanning for a familiar face...just like she had before. This time she knows she will not find Jon, and for that she tells herself that she is grateful, but rather thinks to find Tormund or Hindya, the clan chieftain of the Frozen Shore. In her search she doesn’t see the blur of white that appears from her right, and before she could brace herself, she finds herself surrounded by an enormous white wolf with eyes of garnet, and a missing ear. “Ghost...” she whispers. “This is where you went off to? I had wondered...” she hugs the wolf, trying to leech a bit of strength and comfort from something familiar and dear. 

“Bloody Hell! What are you doing here and where is the big woman?”

Sansa immediately turns to the booming voice behind her. A large part of her thought if she had brought Brienne with her, then that would move Tormund to grant her request, knowing that the woman would be near, but she could not do that to her friend...for the woman’s heart still mourned the loss of Jaime Lannister. “Unfortunately, Ser Brienne did not accompany me on this journey. I fear you will have to settle for the poor substitution of Ser Podrick.” She smiles playfully at Podrick, the man grinning back at Tormund...as he wiggles his eyebrows. “Though I think in the right lighting you may catch a glimpse of my fiercest ally.”

“Posh...you both mock me. I am deeply wounded Lady Stark. Why do you lack such compassion? My heart is deeply pained.” The man grimaces at her. Sansa can’t help but laugh, though she tries to reign it in. The time Tormund spent near Ser Brienne only encouraged the man’s amorous feelings for her, even though her friend did not return such feelings. “I apologize Tormund, but perhaps I can make amends for my unladylike indifference.”

Tormund grunts and Sansa take this as a sign to continue...to quickly state her request. She has learned that with the Free Folk direct is best, and decision are made quickly. So, without further diplomacy... “I am here because I want to go North when your people begin to leave for their settlements. I would like to go with Chieftain Hindya, when she leaves for the Frozen Shore. I know you cannot decide who travels with her. I plan to speak to her myself, but I ask that you allow me passage with you should she decline my offer.” Sansa holds her breath, hoping that if she fails with Hindya, she still has secured safe passage out of The Seven Kingdoms with Tormund’s people. Willing to remind him that even though it was Jon that brought them over the wall, and it was for Jon they fought, that it was she who provided for his people at Winterfell. She held out hope that she would not have to remind him, that tactic being one Littlefinger taught her well..._ “My Dearest Sansa. Always remember, one must be reminded that there is always a debt for gesture shown. The grander the act, the larger the payment.”...his dry lips press against her temple as his hand moves down the spine of her dress and resting below the small of her back..._

Tormund’s hushed voice pulls her out of her memory. “Damn ya Jon Snow...” Sansa looks up towards Tormund and sees a tall woman walking towards her, her long brown hair braid resting on her left shoulder, eyes warm but cautious. Hindya stands before Sansa, “Well you look a lot warmer than you did when I last saw you. These colors seem to suit you better in my opinion.”

“Could it be that they resemble you own...” Tormund groused. 

“Aye. You may be right.” Hindya bellows in laughter. “Lady Stark what brings you here?” 

Finding her resolve once again, Sansa tells Hindya that she wants to go further North with the Free Folk...to live among the Frozen Shore clan in particular. “I know that you have no need of me, and that my request to come may put a burden on you, but I do not come empty handed.”

Hindya face becomes serious, the friendly free woman is gone and in her place a chieftain leader. Sansa knows she has to be ready to face the chieftain should she want to be accepted into their society. Hindya looks at Sansa, but Sansa refuses to look away...she doesn’t feel the need to, her determination stronger than her fear of rejection. “What do you have that you think we would want?”

“I know there are many wounded, elderly, and children, many younger than five years-old among the Frozen Shore clan. It is my understanding that in order for you to travel home you will need to go through the Frostfangs and Skirling Pass to return. The weather is becoming unpredictable. You might lose more people...more children on the journey. I have written to Lord Manderly and have secured two ships from him. The ships will ferry the Frozen Shore Clan. He is also interested in a type of trade, should you be amenable.” 

“Trade? What do we have that he couldn’t easily get elsewhere? And where would these boats be. We aren’t currently by the sea.” Hindya voice stern, but speculative. 

“He would like a port. If he had a port for his ships and his products on the Western side of the continent, then he could expand his ability to trade on the western side of the continent. Lord Manderley is open to trading your products as well...your fish, furs, animal fats, and salts, but that would be an agreement for you to make with him. Also having ships loyal to the North of Westeros means we have a navy to help protect the lands from invaders...should they arrive by sea. Before I left Winterfell, Lord Manderly raven told of their immediate departure to the Bay of Ice. He said if we follow the wall beyond Westwatch-by-the-Bridge, where the Bay of Ice meets the land, there he will be. If I have anticipated the time properly we have at least 10 days at Castle Black, and four days of travel along the wall, before they should arrive at the Bay.” 

Tormund and Hindya look at each other. A silent conversation was loudly broadcasted between the two Free Folk leaders. Sansa waited. Not sure if her proposal would be accepted. Hoping that it would. 

“So, a fortnight, then. I can’t commit to aligning myself with a kneeler. That is a decision for the clan, and I am not sure if my people are ready for that even though we did fight together. But if they are willing to take us home and all we have to agree to is taking you...and your man...” Hindya gestures to Podrick “...with us, then that is a decision I don’t think we will have a problem passing. Let me get my people together. I can let you know in the morning.” Hindya nods at Sansa, Tormund, and Pod as she walks away. “Hey Tormund, don’t you feel like it’s getting a little bit crowded in this keep.” She smirks at the giant of a man.

Tormund’s face quite serious in its regard, yells back. “Just remember, if you take her...”

“We know what it means? Does she?” Hindya walks off.

***

The last exchange between Tormund and the woman left Sansa feeling confused. Sansa looks at Podrick, his eyes meeting hers...questioning the exchange himself. Knowing they need to settle in for the evening themselves after such a long ride, and wanting to be out of the view of all the curious gazes upon her, she ask Tormund where she and Podrick can seek shelter. “We can take anyplace really...if there is room in the tunnels we can set up a camp there. We don’t want to make you rearrange anyone for our comfort. We have our bags and bedrolls. All we need is a space. Anywhere will do truly.” The last thing Sansa wants to do is displace someone who has made a temporary home in the Keep. She’s not staying long enough to warrant finding comfort. She wants to remain like a spectral, there, but leaving little to no evidence of their presence. She has found freedom in leaving behind the protocols expected by the realm.

“I can’t put ya in the tunnels. They aren’t the most stable, and well, I just can’t put you there...it’s dark and dank. Not fit for you...the healthy...unless you are wanting to get ill.” Sansa senses there is more to it than that, but she leaves it alone. For all intents and purposes, it looks like the Castle Black is under Tormund’s leadership...so if he declines the tunnels as an option then that is not for her to question. Before he can offer her an alternative location, she places another suggestion of her own ahead of his. “Does the contraption that takes us up to the top of the wall still work? Would it be safe to sleep up on the wall?”

“Yes, the lift works. It’s safe, but you are exposed to the elements.” The man kissed-by-fire seems confused by her question.

“That’s fine. The weather has been a blessing on this journey. It’s held up well. In all honesty Pod and I enjoy the solitude. Personally, I have grown accustom to coldness of the wind on my face, and the stars being the last image I see before I close my eyes. The silence is...restorative.” Sansa tries to smile at Tormund. She sees his expression, and once again she is confused by it. It seems sad to her. Why should her words move him so? He once told her of the joys one encounters when it’s just them and the little piece of sky. Perhaps his expression has nothing to do with her sleeping arrangements, but more to do with her request to leave with his people should Hindya’s clan decline her appeal. Hoping to entreat Tormund to her cause, she looks him directly in the eyes as she speaks, “I am grateful Tormund for the refuge here at Castle Black, and I hope beyond the Wall. I do not want to put you in a quandary, but I do need to make it clear that I would be indebted to you should you allow it.”

There is a long pause between them. Podrick the only person close enough to witness the exchange. “Aye. The wall is yours. I just wonder if you really understand what you would be giving up going to the ‘True North.’ It’s not an easy life Sansa.” Sansa smiles, pleased that he feels familiar enough to call her by her name. “It’s bloody hard, but it’s all we know. You on the other hand...you know it to be different.”

Sansa thinks she understands what Tormund is trying to tell her, for she had thought long about it herself. “I do. I am not promising to live my entire life with the Free Folk. If I do, then I do. I might stay for a while though. I need a place to...heal, hide...to do both without the title of Lady of Winterfell following me. The title didn’t save me, Tormund. At times it served more as an addition chain placed on my person. I need to know what I can be without that chain. That’s why I left it back at Winterfell and sought sanctuary with the Free Folk.”

Tormund nods in understanding. She can see his mind calculate his decision; she could only hope it was in her favor. “Alright. If the Frozen Shore clan decline your bid, then you can come with me. But before you shed your Lady title off you might need it a little bit longer...” Ghost slowly stands beside Sansa, leaning his solid weight into her, his behavior draws her attention from Tormund, her eyes following the direwolf’s. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a body...dressed in white furs. Sansa’s blood runs cold as her eyes slowly lift from this person’s legs to their swollen waist, swelled bosom...but it’s the silver-blonde hair curled over the chest that makes her heart freeze in mid palpitation. “No...” quietly pushes its way through her lips. She closes her eyes, sealing her heart and bracing herself for the image that will await her when she opens them again. Sansa takes a deep breath, her lids slowly rising, the blueness of her orbs almost gone, till a cold hardened tinted gaze shown through...and landing on the Dragon Queen in the flesh. Seems as though the gods are not done being angry with her because only a vengeful god would bring her right to Jon...and his Queen. 

Sansa turns her head to Tormund, and whispers...her breath slightly trembles as she speaks...terror lacing her words, “Where is Jon?”

“He left this morning for Winterfell, but it’s not too late to get him back. I can ride out...he can’t be more than a day away.” Tormund softly offers, but that is not what Sansa wants. Thankful that he wasn’t there. “No! Leave him. There are matters he needs to tend to once he arrives. So, it’s is just her?” Sansa inquires.

“I’m thinking the only thing Jon Snow is looking to tend to is you, and you’re here...but I won’t send anyone or go myself. I understand what lies between you and him...” Sansa appreciates Tormund even more than before. “...it’s just her and a group of Unsullied and Northmen that arrived with Jon about a fortnight ago. They guard her...and Ghost is usually not too far away. We keep an eye out as well...on account of what she means to the King Crow.” Tormund’s last words did Sansa a violence, as it took away her breath, like the glacial water from the river took her ability to breathe when she and Theon tried to escape from Ramsey’s men. Tormund’s eyes widen...she thought that perhaps he realized what he had said, but she wasn’t capable of listening to anyone try to soften the truth of what she already knows. Jon loves Daenerys more than he would ever care for her. 

Finding her strength once again, she looks over at Daenerys, her hand resting on her belly, eyes that once held shock now held disdain, yet the women had not spoken or moved since she noticed Sansa. Turning to gather her bags, prompted Podrick to gather is own, she collects both sets of belongings as she murmurs to Pod to take care of the horses. She curtly bids Tormund a good night and walks past Daenerys on her way to the lift...with Ghost at her heels. Back straight, head high, her eyes never losing sight of the contraption, once she and the direwolf were safely inside the young man began to pull the ropes that started her ascension away from the reality she so desperately tried to avoid.

***

Sansa doesn’t know how she made it from the lift to setting up a resting space for the evening, but clearly she had. As she recognized that Podrick was now crouched before her, extending a bowl of soup to her, she looks around to see both bedrolls laid out with each of their satchels at the head of the roll, and she was seated in the middle of her own, with her back against the frozen wall, and a direwolf’s head resting on her thighs. “Sansa...you should eat.” Podrick’s voice gentle. Sansa once again looks back at the man. A good man, a good friend, a person who really wants to take nothing from her, but who has done nothing but added. Collecting herself she reaches out for the bowl. Her movement causes Ghost to change positions. He lays down the length of her left leg, bringing her warmth. She runs her left hand through his fur, repeating the pattern of moving her hand back and forth...finding comfort in Jon’s direwolf as she once had before. She decides to taking a sip of the broth, even though she is not hungry, she thanks Pod for his consideration.

Podrick nods towards her and sits on his own roll, back against the wall, he turns his head towards her, “Do you want to talk about it.” Sansa vehemently shakes her head because she isn’t sure what to say about what she feels. She is silent for a long time before she attempts to put into words all the large emotions coursing through her. Staring blankly at the wall in front of her she begins, “He was here. She is here. Why didn’t they go to Winterfell? Bran said they were coming North, but never would I have guessed he would have brought a pregnant woman to the Wall. One minute I think I know what Jon will do, and they he does the opposite of what I expect. It's exhaustive trying to keep myself ahead of him. He drains me. Why do people we love have the ability to do this? Why is it they can continue to take even when they aren’t even present? Many people have drained me over the years, Jon is not alone in that regard, he is just the one lately that consumes the most.” Sansa is inclined to cry, but the tears refuse to fall, the just settle on the edge of her eyes...teasing her with release.

“I have found myself not to be an overly religious sort. The things I have seen, have made me doubt what I’ve been raised to believe. There are a few elements that always remain though. Confession to the right person might be healthy you know. Maybe you need to see Daenerys, say your piece so that you can move on. There always seems to be a ghost that follow you when a person leaves unfinished business. Perhaps this is your chance to leave this ghoul here.

“I do not need Daenerys Targaryen’s forgiveness.” Sansa exclaims, surprise that Pod would suggest such a thing. Her voice alerts Ghost to her anxiety and rest his head on her lower leg. The gesture calms her. 

“Maybe not forgiveness, but there is something to be said for letting all your feelings out. Say what you need her to hear so that you don’t spend the rest of your life wishing you had said something after all.” He sighs as he lays down to settle in for the night. 

Something about Pod’s demeanor makes Sansa prod a bit more. “Is there a ghost following you Pod?”

“Yes, but in short time the ghost will be gone. At least I hope it will be once I see her again.” He whispers.

“Jayne?” Sansa thinks of her friend and of her request of Pod to find her and bring her back home. “Yes, Jayne.” He says quietly. Sansa leave him with his thought of a bit. 

“Pod, I’ll have Hindya’s answer in the morning and Tormund said I could go with him as well. I will be okay. You should go South and get Jayne.” Sansa steels herself for Pod to object, and he does, as she had predicted. 

“Sansa you are not settled. Settled is in a homestead, this is still the unknown. I could not in good consciousness leave you this way. Podrick’s voice more forceful than Sansa has ever heard from the jovial man. 

“I have a place here Podrick. I know I do. I wanted to be free among the Free Folk, that means there is an inherent risk in that. I am aware of it and I do not need your permission to accept those risk. Do not make it your responsibility. You’ve done what I have asked of you, and I will be eternally thankful to you. Now go do what you really want to do...go bring Jayne to you. Always remember that you both will be welcome...wherever I may be.”

Sansa can see the moonlight reflected off of the sheen from Podrick’s eyes, and she’s aware he probably sees the same sight. Both move a hand towards each other. Pod squeezes her hand, mindful of the soreness she still feels from the ceremony, she sees his right cheek twitch as he nods his head in acceptance. “Aye, Sansa. Once I know your final destination, I will go.” Sansa returns the gesture, while she continues to stroke Ghost’s flank, the softness of the fur calming the storm raging with in. She looks up to the sky, her mind returning to what she needs to say to leave the specter of Daenerys Targaryen at the Wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I left a small bit of a cliff-hanger, not too bad I hope. 
> 
> I had to split this chapter into 2 parts because it became extremely long. I won't leave you waiting too long for the second part. I'll post it by Saturday. It is written and ready to go. I have to admit its the part I like best, and the part I think many are waiting to read.
> 
> Thanks for the kudos, subscriptions, and bookmarks. It helps to know that people enjoy the writing...especially when it challenges them. 
> 
> Until next time, 
> 
> ~Winter


	22. Sansa VII Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa gets her answer to her request, and she and Daenerys have a long overdue conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, here it is...as promised. 
> 
> I do want to stress to readers that at this point Sansa does not know how much of hers and Jon's past Dany is aware of...so that does impact how she navigates around for a little bit during their exchange. 
> 
> I know there is so much that needs to be said, and there is more in the Dany POV coming up after Jon's...so you'll have to wait to see what else pops up from their exchanges. I feel like I must preface that I would like to have addressed everything, but alas I can't because the story is already long enough...lol.
> 
> Without further wait....
> 
> Disclaimer...I own nothing.

The first rays of light where what awakened Sansa. This might have been the latest she has slept since, well...since she was a young girl with little care in the world. Sitting up, she raises her arms above her head, trying to stretch out the kinks that come with a night on a bedroll. Sansa sees that Podrick’s bedding has been put away, and Ghost was nowhere in sight. She looks over the wall, and its plain to see that the day has started. After a long night ruminating about seeing Daenerys at Castle Black and Jon’s true motivation for going to Winterfell, when his Queen was safely tucked away so far North, that no one would bother venturing this distance to find her...not with Winter here...

Sansa shakes her head to pull herself out of this stream of thought. It is the time of day where she must push such thoughts out of her head. She kneels down and begins to roll her bedding just so, when she heard the hard steps of someone coming towards her. Perhaps Podrick brought her some bread, finding herself famished...

“I was just about to head down, Pod. I’m sorry for oversleeping. I guess I was more tired than I thought. How did you sleep? Well, I hope...” Sansa isn’t looking in the directions of the steps, she crouches down to efficiently pack her satchel. She now sees Ghost has walked up beside her, feeling his white fur brushing against the side of her head. “I am not Pod, but I do bring bread.”

Sansa freezes, her mind quickly calculates the voice, and she immediately relaxes. She recognizes Hindya’s voice. For a moment she thought that Daenerys had made her way to the only sanctuary Sansa could find as they are both sequestered for the moment in this Keep. Sansa quickly turns back and looks at Hindya. “Thank you for the bread, but you didn’t have to go through the trouble. I would have made it down to collect it myself. I just had a rough start this morning.”

“I heard all about it last night...and this morning. Which is why I decided to bring the bread? I thought we needed to talk without inquisitive eyes, and present history, creating a murky haze around some big decisions that need to be made today.” Hindya breaks off a piece of bread and pops it into her mouth, chewing lazily around the morsel of food. “Seems like the Queen wanted to speak with you last night...and this morning, but Tormund left the directive that no one was to grant Daenerys access to the lift.” She chuckles, “He told her if she wanted to speak to you that she better get to climbing. Needless to say, she wasn’t impressed.”

Sansa sits down, Ghost sitting beside her...always maintaining some type of contact with her person, she smiles at him. “I imagine I will have to face her at some point.” Sansa mused as she chewed deliberately, thinking of next steps.

“Are you hiding on purpose...are you scared to confront her?”

Sansa considered Hindya’s questions. Her immediate response was to dismiss such ideas, but she also knew these were valid questions. Taking inventory of her chaotic feelings, she knew that she was not hiding from Daenerys because of fear, but rather it was more that she needs to limit the woman’s access to her. As for fear...perhaps there was a bit. She knew the topic of Jon would eventually come up and she just didn’t want the woman to unknowingly rub her nose in the knowledge that she had Jon. Daenerys may have lost the Iron Throne, but she won the man. Not that the playing field was fair, mind you. Sansa knows that if the truth of Jon’s parentage had been revealed before he left for Dragonstone, then things would have been different for them. The thought of them as siblings, even half, was enough to make him resolute in not becoming the Lannister’s of the North. A part of her agreed with his decision, but there is this other side of her that felt safe and cared for that did desire him...that was the part she had trouble controlling.

“Hiding, no. Scared...more like resigned. Either way I am not in any great urgency to meet her.” 

Hindya nods her understanding. “I won’t take too much of your time. I just wanted to let you know that I’ve spoken with the clan and they have agreed to accept the ferry back home. You and your man are welcome to come. As for the matter of a port and trade, we aren’t ready to make that commitment. We have to dedicate our energies on rebuilding our settlement. Tormund, however, made some good points when the leaders met as a council. He said that in this new world we can’t continue to live in the type of isolation we once lived in before, and perhaps one or two ports might be the answer to having a distant working relationship with the South. But like I said before, we are not ready to figure out the practicalities of it all.”

“Thank you, Hindya. Thank you so much.” Sansa releases the breath she was unaware that she had been holding in. 

The older woman stands, somethings about her demeanor reminds Sansa of Arya...though the coloring is not quite right. “The clan should be ready to depart for the ship in ten days. Go have your conversation, Sansa, and then join me. There is a lot we need to prepare for.” Sansa gestures in understanding as Hindya makes her way down the lift.

***

Taking in the solitude to be found at the top of the wall, she turns to look at Ghost...his red eyes peer back at her as if to search for her intentions. Damn if Sansa knew. She had a plan. A course of action...but seeing Jon and Daenerys now was not a part of it. She has to remain calm, rational, and reserved, but the small amount of wolf’s blood that courses through her is hot. It’s a rarity for her though. The wolf’s blood much more common through Robb, Arya, Rickon...and even Jon...it never overtook her like it did them...except for now. Sansa holds out a piece of bread to Ghost in the palm of her hand. The great beast sniffs a bit, lifts his head, and tilts it to the side. The gesture so simple and predictable, she had to laugh...and laugh she did. “Alright, Boy. I see you do not have a hunger for bread. I do have a bit of dried rabbit that I think would do.” Searching through her bag she finds exactly what she is looking for. Holding a piece of dried meat between two fingers, she presents the food to Ghost. The animals must have detected what it was immediately because with a quickness he was known for...he snatched the food from hands. Once again the banality of it all in the mist of the conflicted feelings within her provided a moment’s reprieve from that which she knows she must do.

After a long walk along the wall, Sansa made it down the lift. She knew there was plenty for her to do, and if she remained above, then it would definitely look as though she were hiding...the reasons why...for others to speculate upon. Sansa is done with others conjectures of her behavior. As she exits the lift, she looks around, in the distance she sees Hindya talking with a small group of young adults, their eyes catch and Hindya head gestures to Sansa’s right. She sees the room Jon had exited, when she first came to Castle Black. Before the doors were two guards, one Northern and one Unsullied. Well there goes her answer as to where Daenerys was. Sansa looks back to Hindya returning a gesture of appreciation for informing her of Daenerys whereabouts. Turning in the direction of the stairs, she is stopped shortly by Tormund. 

“Morning Lady Red...she’s in rare form this morning. Seems she still expects to get things she wants when she wants them. I have been given the heated glare all morning” The giant man shrugs his shoulders with little care of how Daenerys views him. “I think her anger has more to do with me at this point, and less you, but you might be the beneficiary of her ire for me.” He warns, but Sansa has no doubt that any indignation Daenerys might have for others pale in comparison to the fury she feels towards Sansa. “It’s fine Tormund. This conversation between Queen Daenerys and I is long overdue. Rest assure only words will be the weapon of choice between us. No need to protect Jon’s Queen from me.”

“It’s not only Jon’s Queen I mean to protect...” Sansa looks the tall man in the eyes, refusing to interpret what she sees as a reliable truth, but rather his own opinion. “If she is Jon’s Queen, then all know you to be Jon’s Lady.”

“They know me to be his sister...that’s very different from lover...or wife.” She tells him quietly.

“We know the truth of Jon’s parentage. Daenerys shared it with us, but before she had there had been talk...even before he left for Dragonstone. You and him...it’s not the big leap you seem to think we have to make. Many made the jump long ago. But what you both did for the Free Folk, that goes beyond anything we can repay. So as long as you don’t expect us to be marrying siblings and cousins, or any assorted close relatives, then we can move past this.”

Stunned into silence, but knowing she should respond, Sansa turns her head and sees Ghost waiting at the foot of the stairs that lead her to Daenerys. “He has made his choice, Tormund.”

“Hmmm...yes he has. The choice being no choice...” Tormund mutters, “...greedy bastard.” Sansa’s head whips back, disbelieving that she heard Tormund correctly. Leaving him to his self-talk, Sansa long strides make up for the loss in time her conversation with Tormund created.

***

As she stands in front of Ghost, she once again runs her long fingers through his fur, finding security in his presence. Like Ghost she too is a wolf, battered, but still standing proudly. That will be the part of her she takes into that room...the place where wolf will meet dragon. Without postponing the inevitable any longer, Sansa steadily walks up the stairs, turning on the first landing up towards the second. She stands before the guards, the Unsullied immovable, the Northman, however, from House Hornwood recognized her...nodding in acknowledgement, “Lady Stark.”

Nodding back, “ Ser, I have come to speak with Queen Daenerys, if she is agreeable at this time.” Sansa waits as the Northman knocks on Daenerys door before entering. She waits outside with the Unsullied guard, both of them looking at each other warily. This man will not bring her harm. She had seen with her own eyes the control these warriors had...and control she could appreciate, but Bran told her of more details surrounding the destruction of Kings Landing, and these very discipline men followed Daenerys destructive impulses. Would he lose it now? She has no more time to further dwell on the possibility that coming to Daenerys rooms was a miscalculation on her part, as the Northman exited the room and gestured for her to enter. 

There she was. Looking like a goddess, part of her hair neatly braided with thick ribbons of curls resting over her shoulders. She sat by the fireside...one hand resting on her womb while the other was draped along the armrest, her violet eyes looking into the flames. The sound of the door snicker shut, appeared to bring both women out of their musings. Daenerys turned her head towards Sansa. 

“Well Lady Stark, seems like the gods are determined for us to speak before you treat with Jon. I had thought when he changed our course from Winterfell to the Wall, that I would postpone having to see you just yet, clearly that was not meant to be...for either of us.” Daenerys voice formal and direct, but not...unwelcoming. This immediately brought up Sansa’s protective instincts. What approach is this...she wondered. 

“Looks like we both ran out of good graces long ago, Daenerys.” Sansa deliberately chooses to be familiar with the young queen to gauge how she will respond to such an address. During their shared time in Winterfell, Sansa always made sure to address the queen by her proper title even if she had not accepted Daenerys as her queen. The Dragon Queen flinches just a bit, enough for Sansa to know she was affected by her word choice. Ah, there it is that false smile, that looks more like a grimace than a sincere gesture it is meant to convey. How the woman managed diplomacy was a wonder to Sansa, but then if she really thought it through Daenerys would most likely deal very little with neighboring kingdoms and all that would be handled by her advisors. The woman seemed to view the world in starkness...black and white, much like Jon could at times.

“Lady Stark, I hope there can still be courtesies in times such as these. While it may be known among the kingdom of Jon’s ascension to the throne as the only living child of my brother Rhaegar, I am still a Queen in my own right, and will be addressed as such. Just as I will extend to you the courtesy of your own title.” That smile tightening just a fraction. Sansa uncowed by her response inclines her head as she shares her reply.

“I am not here as Lady Stark and you are not my queen. I do not recognize your authority here. Besides we both know the conversation we need to have is not a political one. There is no need to elevate ourselves by using useless titles that bring nothing but added kindling to the animosity we have towards each other.” Sansa walks over to look out of the small window that looks out above the courtyard. 

There is a tense silence felt in the room, the only sound of the fire crackling in random patterns. Daenerys sits up to turn her torso in Sansa’s direction. “I might concede that they titles may create more friction, but this conversation is more than just personal. Before Kings Landing, I came North as Jon’s Queen..._The Queen._ The Queen your King had chosen to rule...whatever his reasons, and I was met with nothing but condescension...Sansa” Her name sounding as though it were stuck in the Dragon Queen’s throat. 

Sansa walked over to Daenerys, resting her hands on the mantle, leaching the heat from the fire. “I was always courteous towards you, but even before today you knew I had not seen you as my queen. You knew this, so why use it as an excuse for your behavior. Anything you have done has been to serve your best interest. I gave you courtesy given your station as a queen, and I will not allow you to make it any less than it was.” Sansa grips the mantle the words she will utter next will be harsh, but she wants them to be understood beyond the anger Daenerys has for her. 

“Yes, you were clearly Jon’s Queen, and he gave you our kingdom to rule, but it was not his kingdom to give. When we retook Winterfell, it was I who managed the reconstruction of the Keep, planned to house the multiples of people who would converge on own home to protect it with shelter, food, water, and warmth. I had to bring together Houses that had been at odds with each other for various reasons...years of bad history serving as an obstacle between them and me. In addition to finding separate resources, as in more food and supplies, for Jon’s military plans to defeating the Night King. I toiled on budgets, wrote ravens in hopes of securing alliances beyond the North. Whereas Jon had one focus...the war against the dead. All I did was for the security of the North...the North I bled for...perhaps not on the battlefield men are known to fight on, but I fought and it was just as dark, violent, and bloody. My flesh riddled with a timeline of a campaign meant to destroy me and my House at all cost.” Sansa pauses, she feels herself losing control and tries to find her center. 

Sansa keeps her body directed towards the mantle, but turns her head to look at Daenerys. “You secured the crown from Jon, but when you arrived at Winterfell you learned quickly that Jon wore the crown, but I was the ruler of the North, and you did not have my abeyance. I did not concede my home, and it was my concession you really needed.”

Daenerys stood abruptly, the heavy chair jolting out of place. “I still came. I was an ally to the North. You and your people wanted to nothing to do with me and mine. I came to help Jon because I saw what was beyond that Wall. I saw what the Night King did to my dragon. I couldn’t not come. But I had my own reasons for coming to Westeros, and I put that aside for Jon and his people in the North.” The small woman rapid breath a sign of her agitation did little to move Sansa’s feelings on the matter. 

Sansa walks over to Daenerys, both women standing directly in front of each other. Scorned blue and violet eyes meeting, both refusing it appears to look away. “See, Daenerys here is what I do not understand. You say you came North to help Jon save us, but when Jon left Winterfell he left us a King, but didn’t return as one. The only way to secure help from you was to sacrifice our independence. That does not make you an ally, that made your arrival to our door as the conquer you are. A true ally comes from a place of wanting to help, now I understand some concessions must be made, but you blackmailed the lives of a people in order to secure what you wanted. That made you untrustworthy, why would the North want someone like that to rule us. Why would I?

It was subtle, but Sansa saw the violet eyes soften, just a bit...but they never turned away when she informed Sansa of the vital information she had not known was missing. “That’s not true Sansa, nor fair. I was willing to come to the North without Jon bending the knee. He had been hurt trying to secure the wight we took to Cersei. When he had awoken I told him that I would go North, to help him, that the battle against the dead was more important to address...more important than my ruling the Seven Kingdoms. I told him I would come. It was after my concession that he had bent the knee.”

“No...Jon would not...” Sansa is stunned by this revelation, but she pauses her words. Yes, Jon would because he had. There would be no reason for Daenerys to lie. She never had before...may haps she lies to herself and how she sees the world, but within her worldview she has always been direct in her desires. Sansa has no reason to think that would change now. Walking to the second chair that flanked the fireplace, Sansa sat...slightly leaning against the chair back, legs crossed, mind racing with this new information, she absently runs her fingers across her chin. She hears more than sees Daenerys resume her seated position across from her. Both women now looking into the fire. 

“Even if you didn’t see me as your queen, Jon did. He saw me as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Your betrayal of his secret brought a direct challenge to my claim to my birthright...to my destiny. Your decision to reveal his parentage set the stage for consequences none of us were prepared for.” Daenerys quietly tells her, censure clear in the tone of her voice. 

Sansa is pulled back to the conversation at hand, her time to think about Jon and his motivations put on hold for the moment. This woman’s gall truly is unbounded. How could her advisors mislead her so? The only purpose in feeding her altered view of the world benefits very few...least of all Daenerys herself. Sliding her gaze towards the seated queen, “What birthright? The only birthright you have, at most, is to House Targaryen, but not the throne. Even then the House belongs to Jon as the only living male. By birthrights in Westeros, you are entitled to the designation of Lady Targaryen as the oldest living daughter of the House, should Jon not want to press his claim...or Lady Daenerys, if he did. Jon has no rights to the throne either, so the reveal served no threat to your true goal.”

Sansa wants this woman to admit what she already knows to be true. “Daenerys, own that you wanted the Iron Throne and you took it...conquered it, killed hundreds of thousands for it, but don’t sit there with your bloodied hands and claim you came here to regain something that belonged to you because it no longer did. Don’t attempt to turn your motivations into an act of righteousness as a liberator to save the realm from tyrannical power. You were here for vengeance. Admit it. When you sought me out in Winterfell, perhaps if you had led with your reasons to retaliate then that could have been our common ground, for I understand the desire for retribution far too well. A far better topic than leading me in conversation about you and Jon’s relationship wouldn’t your agree.” 

“Not my birthright. My family ruled over the Seven Kingdoms for 300 years...” Daenerys began, the woman clearly angered, but Sansa could not listen any longer. She interrupts, trying to school her voice not to sound as though she is speaking to an errant child, but rather a grown woman...a leader no less. “By the rules, created by your own ancestors, your family lost by Rights of Conquest. If you want to go even further my family ruled for over 8,000 years before they lost their right to be sovereigns of the North. A much longer claim than 300, wouldn’t you agree. I know you might say the North owes you our fealty in perpetuity, however that agreement made by our ancestors was nullified the moment your family lost their claim when they lost the throne. My brother Robb, he took back our right to rule, he fought for it. Then the fight was inherited by me and Jon. While I may not approve forfeiting the North for your cause, I can acknowledge your desire to regain that claim for your family. But you must understand that people will not just give you their homes even if you have a dragon. Some people are willing to die for a purpose larger than themselves. Have you never encountered such persons in Essos?”

Daenerys had quieted, quelled. “Yes, the Sons of the Harpy is what they called themselves. They were former slavers who wanted to restore slavery in Meereen. Not an honorable cause as you can see.” The Queen arched a perfectly formed brow in admonition. 

Sansa nods in acknowledgement, “No, not honorable at all, but that is not the point I wish to make. The idea still hold true regardless the foundation. If one believes strongly in a reason, then they are willing to sacrifice to see it through...even if that means their death.”

Silence once again descended on the room. This time the tension was tempered, not front and centered, but more as a quiet companion of sorts. 

“Why did you tell Tyrion?.”

Sansa is uncomfortable with this question. She does not know what Jon has shared with Daenerys about their past...their relationship. Sansa knows she betrayed Jon, and she is genuinely sorry that she broke his trust because it wounded the man, but she doesn’t think she was wrong to do so. That full particular conversation belongs only to Jon, not Daenerys, but she does think she should explain herself a bit. Especially as it seems as though this woman will soon become family of a kind. The thought unsettles Sansa a bit. Choosing the best way to convey her beliefs she look back towards the fire, sitting up...resting her forearms on her knees, hands clasped before her she tries to answer Daenerys question. 

“You seemed so determined to reclaim the nation and never did you seem to entertain the notion that it was not your to take. Your allies comprised of a minority of people who had been hurt by the hands of the Lannister’s, and wanted revenge. That didn’t bode well in gaining support from other houses for your cause. Simply put...I did not trust you Daenerys. I didn’t trust you with my family, my home, and my people. Jon had just revealed his parentage to us. He basically told...us...that he was choosing to be with you. I admit the news hurt me, because I didn’t understand what he saw in you...when all I saw was someone to be very cautious of.” Sansa takes a breath before continuing. 

“I had no doubt you would prevail, but you are impulsive and struggle with regulating your own actions, but perhaps with Jon as your king you could have been tempered. The kingdom would never have accepted a bastard and many would work toward destroying you by dismantling what secures you...such as killing your lover. If Tyrion knew, I thought he could control the information so that you would acknowledge Jon as a legitimate Targaryen, and a King once again. There is more to lose when you target the King, the Queen’s husband...and with Jon as king perhaps the North could still retain some of its independence.” Sansa’s heart hurt less than she thought it would to say those words. Words that once burned her tongue as she uttered them to Tyrion. 

“If I thought Jon would return, I wouldn’t have said anything, but I knew he wasn’t therefore I wanted to try to protect him and the North one last time.” Sansa knew she had to let Jon go, and that killed her. She still remembers the tears that never seemed to stop falling, because she knew she’d never go South again. She hoped that if Daenerys had just accepted Jon as he was...then the reveal wouldn’t have been an issue.

Daenerys has not responded to Sansa’s explanation. Typically, Daenerys expressive face offer a lot of insight into the woman. It’s an area she needs much work in, should she wish to rule the Seven Kingdoms with Jon. Honestly both are quite poor at it. Finally, Sansa gets a clue, and she reasons that Daenerys isn’t pleased with the answer, but she doesn’t seem surprised by it either. 

“Hmmm...I still find it difficult that you didn’t have any malicious intent. You knew what Jon and I were to each other. You knew how that information changed the standing between us...and his with you. When we were on Dragonstone and when we marched North, I did not know of the existence of Sansa Stark...” 

Caught off guard, Sansa’s felt her eyes widened. Daenerys must have notices, which caused her to explain her words. “I had heard pieces of your history from Tyrion. When I asked Jon about his family, I knew you as only as his sister. He spoke very little of you, and when he did it always felt like he was protecting you by not revealing too much. It frustrated me because he freely offered his words about your brothers and sister. I contributed his discretion to your past...I always thought he did this because he was trying to safeguard you, she who I thought was his sister. What I was not aware of as I marched North to Winterfell, was that Sansa Stark was not only Jon’s sister...she was _his_...and my competition in more ways than I could have imagined.”

Sansa is stunned by Daenerys revelation. Jon’s Queen knows...she knows of their history, of Sansa’s love for him. Seems like Jon has disclosed their past to Daenerys. Guessing there is no reason who keep silent of the matter. Hells, Tormund and the Free Folk had their suspicions, and apparent confirmations. Yet if Daenerys was aware...

“I did not know about you as well. I knew who you were but not what you had become to Jon. It wasn’t clear until I saw you and him riding into the gates of Winterfell...together. Imagine my feelings when...” 

She pauses, swallowing the lump stretching her throat...holding the remainder of her words hostage. She forges on, with the knowledge that there is nothing left to hide. 

“...the man I loved brought back a lover and told me that lover was the answer to all our problems.” Sansa softly test the words aloud to someone other than herself. Free from having to disguise her feelings from being discovered. 

“That was not my fault. Jon’s silence on our relationship...when he knew he should have spoken...” Daenerys pens a longsuffering sigh, “Well, Jon and I have spoken about it at great length on our journey to the Wall. I have learned to make peace with him on this topic.”

While holding firm in her opinions on Daenerys and her reasons for coming West from Essos, she swallows her pride enough to admits that Daenerys unsuspectingly bore the ill effects of Sansa ignorance on some important matters. “You’re right, the North was not your fault...but you do have much to answer for Daenerys Targaryen. For your sake, I hope you are ready for what’s to come.”

The women turn away from each other, their eyes returning to the fire. Sansa knows that there is more for them to discuss, but she is too fraught to continue, and without a single word she leaves Daenerys...taking her own thoughts with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo...do I even want to ask? I must truly be an inner masochist (the non-sexual interpretation of the word, of course...lol.)
> 
> Thank you for the comments, kudos, subscriptions, and bookmarks...your support of the story is an unexpected treat. 
> 
> ~Winter


	23. Jon VIII Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon arrives at Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the butt-hurt ** Jonerys_fam** for their thoughtful comment. As I have said before, if you can't be constructive in your criticism, then do not comment...unless you want to be linked to this piece of work...FOREVER. 
> 
> So it's finally here, at least the first part of it.
> 
> Jon has arrived and Winterfell has a few choice words for its favorite son. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing

From the crest of the hill Jon can see where there stood the Stark stronghold in the distance. His eyes take in the damage that still remains from the Long Night. Men are repairing the right side of the wall that attaches to the East Gate. Boulders, cement, ropes, muscles, and sweat are the ingredients needed to rebuild what used to be the formal entrance to what was once his home. Right before the walls, he could make out the deep trenches that disfigured the land, a vivid reminder of why there was such a need to build such a formation. The last time he made this trip he had been with Daenerys, her Advisors, and her armies. He continues his ride with just as much trepidation as he had then, perhaps even more so. 

As he rode through Winter Town, it seemed to be abandoned with the exceptions of several dwellings that had smokestacks releasing signs of life into the midday sky. After time away, Jon sees the devastation of Winterfell a bit more clearly now...and he wonders how they rightly survived that night. The losses were plentiful, but many people had survived. The odds were never in their favor. He will be eternally grateful that they had endured, but he will always wonder to which deity they will have to reimburse for their existence. 

When Jon arrives at the gate he observes four men dressed in armour embedded with a sigil that displays a crescent moon and a flying raven...the sigil of House Arryn. One of the Valemen recognizes Jon, and quickly murmurs some directive to the other knights because without word they parted for him...nodding as he rides by. Jon doesn’t question this easy access into the courtyard. He refuses to see it as a sign of good fortune for he knows he is undeserving of it. Ahead, standing before the Great Keep just as Sansa once stood waiting with their bannermen, is Gilly. She smiles at him, it is a welcoming smile, and he is grateful for it. Dismounting quickly, a young boy takes the reins of his horse, bringing the weary steed to the stables. Jon walks quickly over to the heavily pregnant woman...as her movements are slow. She looks happy considering all they had experienced. Her swollen belly makes Jon think about Daenerys changing body, while not as...developed as Gilly...in comparison she too had a small rounded waist that he secretly loved to see grow with their child. Pulling the woman into a friendly embrace, “Ah, Gilly. It’s so good to see you.”

“Aye, Jon. I am happy you are here...well, that you are safe. We all worried for you. When news of the South came...let’s just say there was a lot to be concerned about.” Jon can see some strain around her eyes...her lips. Perhaps Gilly wasn’t as pleased to see him as he thought. As Jon looks about the formal courtyard, he is now all too aware of what he doesn’t see...no Sansa or Bran...as courtesy would have demanded at minimum. With Bran’s abilities he would have known Jon was to return to Winterfell, he would have informed Sansa as the Lady of Winterfell, and yet here he stands with a friend and no family. Jon aims to put forth a genuine smile for Gilly for she should not be made to feel burdened by his own feelings on the matter. Being the only two people in this small courtyard, Jon is forthright with Gilly in his reasons for coming to Winterfell. “Gilly, I’ve come to see Sansa. Perhaps you can tell me where she is so that I may find her.” His heart beating powerfully against his chest, a tremor trembles down his spine...fear, excitement, a cocktail of both overload his senses knowing that he is just moments away from being with her. Not sure what to say, but trusting that the right words will come to him when he sees her face. 

“Well Sansa...well, she not really available right now.” Gilly’s eyes slide downward, her head tilted in kind. “Your broth...hmmm....cousin, sorry, well he too is indisposed for the moment. Perhaps it would be best if you found Sam. He’s in the Maester’s Turret. He’s been working on replenishing the medicinal supplies for the Keep, using the recipes he’s found among the books in that tower. 

Jon immediately stiffened when Gilly told him that Sansa wasn’t available. He forced himself to relax, reminding himself that as the Lady of Winterfell she did have many responsibilities, and that perhaps seeing him would not be on her list of priorities for the day. He thinks that with most of the men returning from the South, small but steady improvements on the Keep, and a need to replenish the depleted food sources from the consumption by the largest army the North had ever hosted...he imagines Sansa is busier than ever. If he approached her at this time, she would not be receptive to listening to him. No, he will have to save this conversation until later, when she would be unhampered by her duties, where they could speak alone. Until then he thought to see Bran, but it also appeared that seeing him wasn’t a viable option either. “Aye, Gilly. I’ll go see Sam. Please let Sansa know of my whereabouts...or better yet, please come find me when she is ready to see me.” It is of some urgency, he thinks to himself, but wouldn’t dare tell this woman that, for she should not be the first to have a peek into his heart...that distinction should go to Sansa, and only Sansa. 

Gilly offers what looks to Jon as a smile of relief. He nods his thanks to her and walks further into the courtyard in the direction of Sam. The Maester’s Turret was a place he knew well, as many of his childhood lessons were taught to him and Robb in that very place. Jon’s eyes can’t help but catalog all the damage to the buildings surrounding the courtyard. It seems like plans to repair are in place. But with so much to do he wonders if the Keep could truly be restored to what it once was, and he wondered if he would be able to see it within his lifetime. While he is proud of have tried to save the people of the North, it hurts him to see the state of his home for it no longer is as it once was. The living testament that they were once there will be lost forever never to be recovered. Finding himself drowning in melancholy, he shakes his head and directs his strides towards his current destination when his attention is caught by a familiar ally of the Starks, though not of his he thought...not really. 

“I see you have returned. It appears as though you are in good health considering the stories we have heard about your journey to Kings Landing.” Lord Yohn Royce stops before Jon, preventing him from continuing his ongoing journey towards Sam. Jon can hear the young men sparring behind him. Their grunts alerting him that these opponents are well match. “Are the rumors true? Did the Mad King’s daughter truly burn Kings Landing? Did she bring your family words to life? Are the Targaryens to rise again?” his voice laced with disdain. 

Jon knew he would have to challenge people’s expectations of him and Dany, both for different reasons. The man was not wrong in his statements, but sentiment behind why she had done what she had were not common knowledge and Jon knew that in truth Daenerys’s reason are rendered moot. In order to get the Eyrie to agree to his and Daenerys’s plan, then he would have to start reframing the narrative that had managed to escape the Capital. “It is true that I am the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.” Jon took a hard swallow after saying those words to someone, other than his family, someone who understood the implications of what that meant. “The attack on Kings Landing came at great cost. Cersei was clever to place wildfire around the city and created a sea of bodies between her and the Keep.” 

He thinks about the approach he needs to get Royce to a place of common understanding. “You are a man of war; you know what warfare can do to a soldier. Even those with the best of intentions.” Lord Royce’s eyes take on a faraway gleam, caught for a moment in a memory of his own bloody past, Jon was sure. “Aye, I do remember what that is like.” He concurs. Jon nods his head in a shared understand...a fraternity of a kind that no one ever truly wants to belong to, then he states, “let it be known it can do the same to a woman. But that one horrible moment should not take away a history of good deeds and positive intentions...no matter what their family name is. No, it’s what is done to make amends when they are wrong that should determine the measure of a person.”

Jon can feel Lord Royce’s eyes assess him, taking in stock of his words, begrudgingly leaving his judgement unrendered at this point. A hint of distaste to be felt, “In war, the innocent do pay a large price for the whims of those in power, that is true, but your Queen’s _horrible moment_ may be too severe an act to forgive. I do not foresee how she can try to make restitutions for what she has brought to our shores. Your defense of her, after witnessing her deeds, puzzles me.” Not confident that he would be able to defend himself against Royce’s argument, Jon thinks he will need to have such a statement ready for this question will never cease. His only concern is that his answer will not warrant an understanding of his actions, and may only serve to aid to turn people away.

The large man cleared his throat, his eyes sending Jon a considered look. “We received the raven from Lord Tyrion regarding your request to convene a summit. Give me one good reason why I should council my liege lord to attend. It feels like a ruse of a kind, but Tyrion says he writes this letter as per your request...as King Jon Targaryen. If that is true, I am not sure that it has any more merit than if he were writing on behalf of that Targaryen woman.”

Jon tries not to bristle at hearing Daenerys described with such contempt, he recognizes that this man is trying to protect his homeland from what he senses as a threat. And with access to what remains of her army and her dragon, Daenerys will always remain a legitimate fear. It is a situation Jon is well acquainted with, being that he was recently in that position himself. Again, Jon is reminded of how Daenerys taking of Kings Landing did more harm than good to her cause. He sends the man a curt nod. “Yes, Lord Tyrion is writing on my behalf.” A flyaway thought catches his mind and won’t let go. His curiosity getting the better of him. Before the war he was a bastard and after the son of a bittersweet prince. If Lord Royce did not find merit in the letter, then why did other Lords commit to attending? He found himself asking the man before him that very question. “Because as I know it, you always thought you were Eddard Starks child. You were raised as a Stark...bastard or not. That means something to people who knew Ned. He was a good man. An honorable man. People assume that his sons are like him as well, therefore, you are seen as an extension of Ned. At least that is how I saw you. All I know, all I see...is more Ned Stark in you than Targaryen, and that I think people are willing to put a certain level of trust in that. Baring you haven’t completely lost your moral code.” Jon was unprepared for the quiet sincerity that came from the seasoned commander. 

The large man looks away from Jon, eyeing the sparring youth in the yard. Jon’s attention is returned. “Though it seems like you intend to stay associated with Daenerys Targaryen, that is a shame...for I believe she was raised to believe the worst of Westeros and the best of her family. Now this...” The older man shakes his head. “You’ve chosen a difficult path to live your life now...as Jon Targaryen, I presume, but then it seems your parents chose an arduous track as well. Perhaps this choice may be the only option available to you, but then again...perhaps not.

Unsure of the man’s last words, Jon inquiries about Sansa, as she and the man before him are close in esteem and fondness, hoping to get a preview into Sansa’s current state. Yohn Royce looks at Jon for a long time, long enough for a new set of sparring partners to begin their practice. The broad chested man breathes deeply, eyes measuring Jon once again, guarded, leaving his decision unknown to the one caught in his gaze. “Sansa, like women of her station had learned the fundamental of what was expected of her, which was to run her husband’s household. But as my own wife has informed me that true knowledge of the task only arrives when a household is place in a woman’s hands.” 

The man pauses and Jon does not interrupt sensing that there is much the older man wants to say. “So, her efforts have been more than commendable in that regard. However, she has spent a long time doing more than running a household in your absence. She ran your kingdom in your stead. She learned the vocation by doing the job she wasn’t trained nor ready for. A woman like her was raised to be the wife of a High Lord or even a King, but to be the ruler herself, no, I don’t believe she was ready for that, nor do I think it was what she had wanted for herself. I’m sure when she was young she fancied herself to be a Queen, all knew of her betrothal to King Joffrey, but being a King’s wife is different from being a Queen in her own right. She did it though, and she was...exemplary.” Pride shown through Royce’s voice. “Your common people loved her, and your Lord’s may have challenged her...but they did recognize Sansa for the leader she was and conceded to her will more often than not. She knows how to get people to give. She gave her mind, her time, and I could see her temperament...for you could tell that being back in Winterfell brought her a kind of peace.” Jon was instantly alerted to the change in the Valeman’s esteemed when his voice became...clipped. “But when you returned from Dragonstone with your allies from the South. I found that she changed and whatever malleability she had...well, she kept it impenetrable. Sansa changed. She just wasn’t who she once was...but I think you know that, and I think you know why.”

Jon felt it hard to speak past the pressure at his throat. It was like a bubble that refused to dislodge. In an effort to speak his peace, he looked about the courtyard...taking one cursory look before settling his gaze on Lord Royce once again. “Aye. She and I both were unprepared for the expectation of ruling, but we both acquired skills over the years that helped ease us into the position. I will be eternally grateful to Sansa for her plans and actions, her...sacrifices...all that she did to rule the North in my place...to be a Stark worthy of the post, worthy in a way I never was.” 

Jon pauses, his mind catching moments in time of them together...from seeing her grasping his hand and urging him to fight for their home at Castle Black, to her demanding to know who would be responsible for the North after he left for Dragonstone, to seeing her advocate for the extension of the men’s recovery time after the battle against the Night King. Strong as Valyrian steel, and just as valuable. A proud and fierce She-Wolf. A person worthy of being Queen to the people of the North.

“She is the best of us, My Lord.” Jon admits for he knows the truth of his own words. Sansa may be flawed, but they all are. The passage her life took after the death of Eddard Stark should have created a woman who was completely broken and without passion, but that was not her. She lived through it all, took all her skills to help regain her home...to rally the North away from the grip of true brutality. She had every reason to run away when he first proposed leaving Castle Black, but the woman would not relent in her quest...as a true Stark would...like her Father or Robb would have done. His appreciation to such devotion, was to give their home...her home, away. It appears as though the ghost in Winterfell are here holding mirrors in their hands, reflecting in the light of day, all of Jon’s indefensible missteps. 

Seasoned eyes look long and hard at Jon. “Aye. I believe you _might_ be right about that.” Nodding to Jon in dismissal, the robust man walked back toward the group of young men in the middle of their training exercises. Leaving Jon to his own thoughts as he walked towards the Maester’s quarters.

***

The walk to Sam’s location wasn’t too long. As he stands before the structure, Jon notices that an outer wall was destroyed, a mountain of debris nestled against what remained of an interior wall. He makes his way to the door that access the lower chambers, his eyes quickly assessing the risk of continuing forth, questioning the structural security of the building. Determined to be safe, considering that Sam felt secure enough to work out of these room, Jon proceeded to call out for his friend.

“Jon! Jon is that you?” a cautious voice called from above. Jon looks up and see’s the familiar rotund figure of his best friend...his brother of choice, peeking out from the end of a very long bookshelf. 

“Aye, Sam, its me.” Jon smiles. Happy to see his friend again. His faces feeling unused to the sensation, considering his journey back home didn’t warrant such regular use of the expression. 

Sam just stares at Jon. The easy silence between the friends, slightly strained. Sam eyes looking away, smile...forced. “Guess I should come down...Your Grace” he smirks, which to Jon looked more like a grimace. Walking towards the steps that bring him to the lower chamber. Jon walks over to Sam. The men embrace, but even then Jon can sense the divide. The eagerness to reunite sat firmly in Jon’s court. This awareness saddens Jon, but it wasn’t as though he was unprepared for it. There is a sharp learning curve for anticipating an outcome and withstanding the actual emotions reality will bring to the surface. Initiating the separation, Jon steps back, his hands resting on Sam’s shoulders, his eyes searching Sam’s. “I saw Gilly. She looks well. Seems happy. How are you...and Little Sam?”

Sam’s demeanor changed as spoke about his family. “Yes, Gilly is doing well. Little Sam is a bit lively at the moment...keeping us on our toes. The pregnancy is progressing well enough. Thankfully her perpetual desire for chicken gizzards cooking in sweet cream is waning. Her craving of it goes beyond all understanding. The concoction is truly vile. Jon laughs for he too can appreciate where Sam is coming from, and tells him so...not thinking about the heaviness of the news he was about to share. “Daenerys has a few unusual longings herself...pickled herring with dried grapes and salted apples.”

“Daenerys is pregnant!” Eyes wide in shock. His friend’s bearing takes on a wooden appearance. “Jon, I’m not sure what to say to that.” Sam’s large eyes looking around, looking for purchase, but finding nothing to keep him tethered after hearing such a revelation. Mindfulness comes to Jon, and he tries to soften the knowledge. “There is not much to say. She is carrying my child.” 

Heads bent close, Sam asks, “You said nothing when I told you about Gilly. Did you know before you headed South?”

Jon shakes his head vehemently. “No. I was caught unawares. I learned of it immediately after...Kings Landing.”

“I guess it too late to wish for things to be different, huh.” Jon watches Sam’s reaction. While he can confess that Daenerys’s condition was unexpected and ill-timed, he does not regret the child. Not looking to add more friction between him and his friend, Jon decides to move on to what he thought to be a safer topic...Sansa. 

“Some things happen for a reason, I suppose. I had wanted to meet with Sansa upon my return, but it seem she is...busy.” His voice on that last word sounding odd, even to his own ears. His urgency to see her postponed by the obstacle of her station...a station that was once upon a time his. 

Sam’s eyes avert from Jon’s, the man turning around to walk to a large desk covered with books, several mortar and pestle, bowls filled with herbs, and jars of oils. Sighing so deeply that his breath moved a few loose scrolls from their place on the table. Jon watches as Sam rest his hands on the edge of the table. 

Not sure of what is happening, Jon walks around Sam, giving his friend ample space. “Sam, what is it? Is it Sansa? Dammit man, I know something is amiss. First Gilly seemed...off, but I just reasoned her behavior to something benign, then Lord Royce spoke about her in general terms, and now you are acting peculiar. So once again I demand you tell me, Sam. What is happening here?” Voice raised in a tone he had never used with Sam before.

Sam remains in his position, eyes on the desk, bodied coiled, his voice distant. “Why do you care, Jon? You gave the North to _your Queen._ Why don’t you ask her about Winterfell? Oh, perhaps you can’t because you both left Winterfell in the assumed hands of the Starks...Sansa in particular, to care for the North while you helped Daenerys Targaryen burn Kings Landing alive.”

Jon lurches back slightly, feeling the unexpected verbal blows coming from his once-sworn brother. “I did not help her Sam. What was to become of Kings Landing I did not know in advance. I would never had supported the acts that occurred. Never. As for the North, I care Sam. The North is my home. The Starks are my family. Sansa has been my constant since before we won our home back, of course I would care how she is fairing.”

Sam roared his response. Jon never seeing such a side to the man. “Never would have supported her. Would you like to go back to the crypts to the night I told you about your parents? That woman burned prisoners of war. She destroyed the food the kingdom needed to subsist over the long winters. All done to send a message to the rest of the Seven Kingdoms...a message Jon you refused to hear. You supported her cause the moment you took your men and headed South.” 

With splotches of red bruising his face, Sam’s voice lowered but was still harsh in his declaration. “Aye, Sansa and the Starks they are your family, and so is Daenerys Targaryen. Probably more so now.” Sam stands upright, shaking his head as he stares at Jon. “I don’t understand how you can support her still, after everything you’ve seen and after what you know.” Sam shakes his head. “I saw the raven Tyrion sent. A summit to meet with the Mad Queen. Really Jon?”

Jon has told himself he was prepared for the anger, for these kinds of questions the anger would provoke; he just didn’t account for how difficult it would be to answer to people he loves and cares for when they clearly have lost respect for him. It’s harder to not apply a veneer over Daenerys actions to avoid further damage to her reputation...and to his, for willfully following her and demanding that others did as well. It is so much tougher not to lash out when shame stands front in center of one’s actions. Jon sits at a nearby chair, gesturing for Sam to join him. Sitting forward, resting his arms on his thighs he tries to put into words something he too struggles at time to understand. “Daenerys has made some ruthless choices during her time in Westeros. During her fight with Cersei, I know her actions hurt you and your family, Sam.” His eyes looking directly into Sam’s, sincere compassion evident in his posture and voice. “In war you never know the choices your enemy will make upon your seizure. She made an extreme choice in the mist of warfare, Sam.” Jon shrugs, “It may not have been the choice I would have made, but in war, the winner has the right to make that decision. She had won that battle, so it was her choice. War is not fair. It is not moral or ethical. There is always loss on both sides. The only difference between the fighters is who thinks they are standing on the right side of history. It was also your father’s choice to bring your brother...his heir.. into a war. Lord Tarly made peace with his decision to stand by his word to the Crown. I can respect that, I truly can. But the accountability in Lord Tarly and Dickon’s death belong to your father...not Daenerys. He chose, and he lost, and left his family to mourn them. That can be any one of us, in any war.” 

Sam looks at him, Jon can tell that Sam is evaluating his words...appraising his response. “Sam, she brought people who chose her as their leader. Her time in Essos was spent helping people who were collected and sold as cattle, and she still held fast when other in her realm fought against the abolishment of such traditions. When Daenerys arrived in Westeros, contrary to what many believe, she came North when she didn’t have to. She offered to come without me having to barter the North for her aid. Dany fought for the living. There is goodness in her that is twisted in with the bad...just like all of us Sam. She is a person who made a horrendous error in judgement, all she ask is that she try to make this right.”

Jon sees Sam’s eyes widen...voice raised. “She’s a good woman? _DAENERYS IS A GOOD WOMAN! Really Jon?” _

“She took the wrong action, Sam. I am not asking you or anyone to forget what happened. Why does there seem to be no room for clemency in the direst of situations? Especially when there is remorse...” Jon’s voice begins to rise in volume.

“Does she feel remorse?” Sam’s voice laced with doubt. 

“She does, but it does not look humble on her...but it is there. I hear it in the way she speaks of her choices at the Reach and in Kings Landing.” Jon shouts. Rising his hand to his mouth, he pulls at his beard, and stands to walk towards the windows. 

The men are silent, just the sounds of the wood crackling in the fireplace, until Sam speaks. “Perhaps it doesn’t look humble because the regret is not sincere. Have you considered that? She’s a manipulator, Jon.”

Jon ponders those words, thinking of the woman at hand. “She can be...with seduction, for it’s like a game with her, but there is no seduction in play. Daenerys has always been direct. Lies are not her strong suit.

“Hmmm...unlike Sansa.” Sam whispers.

Not prepared to have her name brought into this conversation, Jon turns back to look at Sam, dismay reflected on his face. “What does any of this have to do with Sansa?”

Sam fidgets a bit, the habit more reminiscent of the Sam Jon knew. “You told me that with Daenerys you knew where you stood, but with Sansa she was too good a liar for you to truly know what was unfiltered truth.” Sam sighs, “Have you ever thought that maybe the information Sansa does or doesn’t give you is based on the information, or lack of information you give her. She filters because anyone who knows you knows you can’t handle too much information. You, my friend, have the tendency to shut down, make decisions, but you don’t tell anyone anything. Sansa can’t read your mind Jon.” 

Struck by Sam’s words; he considers this fellow who knows him...knew him before he became the man standing before him. “I may not know the particulars of your cousin’s hardships, but I know enough that people who have been treated the way she was don’t survive without building protections around themselves. I can see that Sansa screens because she needs safeguards. Almost everyone she’s been in contact with, since she left home, has used her unfiltered truths to harm her. I daresay all the way until Littlefinger recent departure, if truth be told, and I can’t blame her for filtering what she says, so why do you?”

Sam stands before Jon, eyes compelling Jon to see his stupidity that was quite noticeable to all those closest to him. “I find myself confused by the anger you have towards her because she questions your decisions. She was angry because you never listened to her council. In the end, was she wrong to question you? Your bannermen did, she too was your bannerman, was she not. Why was she not allowed the same freedoms as the rest of the North? Since I have known you and her together, you have always held her to a different standard, and its wasn’t fair. You truly wonder why she’s gone Jon? What is left for her here? _The job you made infinitely harder for her. The job you didn’t want._

Sheer astonishment travels though his body, numbing him to the point that he doesn’t remember making his body move towards his old friend. Jon finds his fingers gripped around Sam’s collar, pulling the large man harshly into his space. _“What do you mean Sansa is NOT here? WHERE THE HELL IS SHE?”_ he roared.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have to admit, Jon and Dany have lived in a bit of a bubble. They have either been with each other or with people who don't care about the politics of the Seven Kingdoms. Now the real world has intruded...let's see how they handle it all. 
> 
> Part 2 is ready to go...it just requires some last minute editing. I hope to have that up and going by Thursday or Friday.
> 
> A big virtual hug to all the supporters out there! I appreciate it your time as you continue to enjoy the story.


	24. Jon VIII Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of Jon’s arrival at Winterfell. The reality of his choices were clearly worse than he prepared for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this will feel harsh towards Jon, but you have to remember he is in Sansa territory AND people have their own perspective they are seeing things from...so it may feel one-sided at times. Jon is also facing people he knows, and some people he cares for deeply...and people who we care about (and who care about us) know how to cut when they are angry or hurt. 
> 
> As usual, I love the support and constructive comments. If you can't seem to do that...then don't comment at all. Lurk silently or leave quietly and find a story better suited to your likes.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Jon is focused on going to one place. He walks out of the Maester’s Turret, his strides long and purposeful. Mind loss to a present he did not predict; he continued on to the Great Keep. His legs mapping the familiar path to the family quarters. Jon doesn’t acknowledge the _‘My Lord’s or Your Grace’s_ he hears from the people he passes by. His mind focused on his final destination. Hallways twist and turn into one another, until he see the set of stairs that led him to where he wants to go, running up to the top of the landing, Jon makes the final right turn, following the pathway to the door he seeks. Jon notes that there are no guards in this wing, the corridor eerily quiet, his mind never wavering from his task at hand. With his hand extended toward the door, he turns the knob, thrusting the solid piece of wood unforgivingly...releasing it to collide into the wall as he stepped into the first of Sansa’s rooms. 

As Jon walked further into Sansa’s outer chambers, he immediately is aware of the staleness in the air. A sign the door and windows have not been opened in quite a long time. His eyes travel towards her hearth, the chairs and the fur rug remind him of a time when they would sit companionably with each other after breaking the evening fast. Sansa would either sit in the chair beside him or on the rug before him, as she worked mending some articles of clothing...usually something that belong to him. It was in this very space that she began to embroider a set of handkerchiefs for him, the ones with his sigil...the White Wolf over a square piece of grey fabric. 

Jon recalled trying to explain how needless such an article was for a man like him, but Sansa’s warm voice persuaded him to relinquish his argument. In a trance-like state Jon found himself touching distance from the seat. He rested his hands on the back of the wooden chair, his eyes never moving from where she once sat on the rug...linens around her, spools of thread stored in her lap, her hair loosened from the morning’s style and draped across her right shoulder, project in hand and her voice ever so proper. _“Jon you have recently been named King in the North. You are more than just a soldier, more than just a bastard...you are now a King. There are things...courtesies that you must now acknowledge, many will be large but some very minute, and all still of note and importance.”_ Sansa waved the craft in her hand under his nose, eyes laughing with a luminous smile on her face. _“Such as having a handkerchief... rather than a bloody rag for yourself or perhaps one for a Lady in need...” _ Her eyes shifted away from mine. 

He saw a piece of hair that had fallen away and covered her eyes. His gaze stayed on her lock of hair, distracted by the color which reminded him of the Weirwood tree. _“This is the North, very few ladies care for such things...”_ his hand reaching to move a piece of her hair behind her ear, _ “But I will proudly carry one for you, Sansa.”_ She gave him a soft look before returning her gaze back to her sewing piece, a small smile adorning her lips. _“Well, thank you, Your Grace.” _The blueness of her eyes sparkled with laughter and the shyness of her smile are the last images he sees in his mind’s eye. Jon remembers well wanting to press his lips against hers...to take the kiss he knew she would return. 

Turning to her bedchamber, Jon opens the door and once again the air alerts him to the rooms persistent lack of use. Walking towards her bed, he can see a layer of dust building on the pillars of her bed frame, puffs of dust clustered in the corner, and fine pieces were in flight...their final destination to be determined by the manipulation of the air his presence wrought. Jon looks around her room from his station at the foot of her bed. He tries to swallow down the pressure that seems to be building in his chest. His mind at odds with his instincts. On her bed he notices her nightgown. He holds it close to his nose, trying to catch her scent, but there is nothing...just like this room...devoid of any real sign that Sansa was currently here. The rooms felt like a shrine to someone who once was, rather than a place that showcased a life lived. 

A set of letters on her vanity grab his attention. Walking towards the table he sees two correspondences, a thick one address to Arya, but it is the thinner one addressed to him that has his unsteady hand reaching for it. Tearing it open in haste, he finds himself falling onto the vanity bench at the sight of her written words...her handwriting ever neat and so distinct. The straight lines and curved strokes, signs of a steady hand, preserved on the paper the thoughts she chose to leave behind for him. 

Jon’s heart stutters at her greeting, his eyes take in her words.

_Dear <s>Aemon</s> Jon,_

_If you are reading this letter, then by now you are aware that I am no longer in Winterfell. I have found a desire to leave home again. My final destination, well...that doesn’t really matter, now does it._

Doesn’t matter...of course it matters, Sansa.

_Brandon has informed me of the events in the South, as he was able to see them. Thus, I am aware of your return. The situation in Kings Landing, that stemmed from the actions of your Queen, were tragic to learn but not unexpected. In all of our interactions at Winterfell, I had never truly noticed you take disagreement with many of her stronger positions. The exception being supportive of my decision to spare Jaime Lannister. Your decision to stand against her now, well that was surprising to hear. I do not know how or if you can repair the damage your choices have wrought on a nation, but I commend you for trying, even if your methods continue to cause personal harm to a few. Perhaps that is an acceptable loss, if the many are spared. I’m sure whatever the outcome, it will reach my ears at some point, for stories such as this have a way of making themselves known._

Jon’s hand tightens around the paper, she saw him as some who no longer had their own mind. His avoidance of her and attentions towards Daenerys discredited him in her eyes. The only one to blame for her how she felt was himself. For he knows that dishonor made him hide, while he momentarily sought to soothe himself from that knowledge in the attention of another. Every minute he is in Winterfell, he finds it impossible to restore his character in their eyes...and it serves as a reflection of his faults.The damage resulting from his life choices may be so severe, that no amount of speech or deed will ever convince Sansa that he is remains a good man. Considering all of his endeavors, since the first time he left for Dragonstone, speak to the contrary. 

_It has also been brought to my attention that you will soon be graced with the title of father, may haps even...husband, if you are not already. Congratulations are in order. I have no doubt you will be good with those roles, for you had the best example for both in my Father._

His breath sounding shallow to his own ears. She knows, he thinks. She is aware that Daenerys is pregnant with my child. Gods! While he knew he would have to tell Sansa of the impending child, he had hoped to do it in person...he had hoped to make her see past his betrayal to forgiveness. To remind her that she loved him, that they were worth taking the chance. But he slept with another woman, while still loving her, and it mattered naught that they had not...could not act on their feelings at the time. They knew what they meant to each other, and they had never spoken of moving on and away from one another. He owed her that conversation, just as she would have owed him, but Jon had made the decision and once again expected Sansa to abide by it. Then he compounded the deed by creating a child. 

Just as when he thought the content in the letter could not get any worse...it does...

_As for me, I have plans of my own, but I’ve left Winterfell in good hands in my absence. Perchance if the fates consider it so, we will meet again one day but rest assure if that day never comes, as it most likely will not, that I wish you every happiness...even if that joy could not be found with me. _

_Be well, Jon._

_With the sincerest of tenderness, _

_Sansa_

She is truly gone. Does she mean never to return? She sounded so sure that we will never set eyes on each other again. She wishes me every happiness even if I could not find it with her...Bloody Hell, Jon thought, for it was clearer to him that she does not see herself as a vital part of that equation any longer. She is not wrong in thinking only one woman could prevail for she is unaware of what I want...and what I am willing to do to have it. Perhaps even so, I may be a fool for thinking she would remain knowing of such desires...for what woman wishes for a man who willingly loves another. 

His eyes return to the weighted material in his hand, maybe the last thing she wore before she left. If he could see himself from afar, he pictures his eyes would be devoid of emotion...staring sightless at the white material, his face vacant and expressionless. Jon closes his eyes to quell the onslaught of sentiments pushing through the slates of his tightly reined control. She left Winterfell. His resolutions made staying in her home, the place she purged of the Bolton’s...a place where she found security, not an option. In fact, it is more likely that her awareness of his return expedited her exit. Armed with the knowledge that he is the sole reason for her to leave the sanctuary of their home, Jon mind races to think of places she may have gone so that he can bring her back. For if Jon had done better, been better, then Sansa would never have lost her home to begin with. 

A hard knock returns Jon to the present, article of clothing in one hand and a letter in the other...he quickly walks out into the solar expecting to see Sam or Bran. However, neither person stood before him, but rather it was an unexpected individual that sought him out. Jon was surprised to see her standing in her armour without her charge, Sansa’s sworn shield...Brienne of Tarth.

***

Jon doesn’t have to wait long to discover what has brought Ser Brienne to him.

“News of your arrival ring true.” The tall blonde woman declares as she takes in the object that still remain in Jon’s possession. 

“Yes. I arrived this afternoon. I had wanted to see Sansa, but it seems I have arrived a bit too late. Ser Brienne, please tell me where I can find her.” His eyes once again look around the vacant room. 

The Lady Knight looked as though she was applying great effort to control her expression. Her eyes not meeting his, until they were. “Your Grace, permission to speak plainly about Lady Sansa.” The woman’s tone clipped and restrained. 

Searching for any insight to Sansa and her whereabouts made Jon desperate, he granted the woman her request in hopes that she could steer him in the direction he sought.

“I knew of you, Your Grace...your reputation. You were the youngest Commander of the Night’s Watch, a swordsman of note, an honorable man who returned from the dead, and persisted in saving this realm from the darkness that resided just beyond our borders.” She offers him a pained smile. “However, with all your actions, I never fully trusted you with Lady Sansa.” 

The fighter before him lets this declaration settle, “I think a large part of that was because Sansa never fully trusted you, even though I think she truly wanted too. She said she did, but she always could predict at times how you could disappoint her.” Once again he was struck hard by hearing someone else reveal the slow conclusion he made for himself on his return journey to Winterfell. Sansa had not trusted him...not completely. His action or inaction bringing this realization into fruition. 

“When you left for Dragonstone, she had thought that you might not return, that perhaps you would be held hostage and she would then be thrusted into the position of having to come for you...having to go South, her greatest fear but for you she would because she spoke about wishing that someone came for her during her captivity. Throughout your separation she went without word from you...she knew nothing of your safety or your plans. I tried my best to keep Littlefinger away from her, but you left her here with him to whisper in her ear about you and the Queen Daenerys. He told her many times about the value of a marital alliance between you the Targaryen Queen, that through marriage the North and the South could be united, and the North would be ruled once again by monarchs in the South. She knew that in your heart that you did not want the kingship...though several times I heard her tell Littlefinger that she thought you well suited for it. Then when you returned, it devastated her to know that you had not considered giving her the North. It was compounded by the knowledge that you had to forfeit it to another person, considering that it was Sansa who was with you every step of the way, securing help to take back Winterfell. Then you return back home with another woman, the one you had to surrender your kingdom to for aid, calling her an ally. But she wasn’t an ally to the North, instead she was your lover...” Brienne face flushed on her recently spoken words. The scarlet flush vivid against her pale skin. 

“I was aware of Sansa’s feeling for you, and your reciprocation of them.” The awkwardness of the reveal crowding them both in an uncomfortable space. Not because Jon still carried shame about his feelings for Sansa, but more so that this woman could scout his desires when she knew him to be Sansa’s brother. “Your choice to be with Daenerys after your firsthand knowledge of her character left Sansa bereft. It was then that she knew whatever you may have had was past and gone. And in the end it all came to be as she had calculated, and as always she was prepared for you to disappoint her, hoping you wouldn’t. My Lady had a certain level of faith in you. It seemed as though you constantly questioned her trust when she seldom questioned yours. I know she withheld the Vale from you, a calculated risk on her part for she was not sure if Lord Baelish would provide support. Yet it was you who broke small pockets of hers over time until nothing remained. Now you are here, she knew you were to come for she had received the message when you decided to depart Dragonstone.”

Not sure what to say to the woman before him. He knows she speaks many suppositions, but she is not entirely wrong in her assessment. Brienne would know of Sansa’s whereabouts he is sure. It is just of a matter of getting her to reveal the location without stripping the woman of her firm sense of honor. It was estimating how he could secure such information that made Jon pause. Brienne continued her thoughts. 

“I do not say this out of disrespect to you, for I admire you in many ways, but she is my Lady and I am sworn to protect her. First by an oath to her mother, and then by my pledge sworn to her. Since she has commanded me to stay in Winterfell, I feel as though I can still honor my promise by speaking to you. You’ve asked me to tell you where she has gone, but perhaps you will see her choice to leave as a response to your question. She deserves to fine some happiness in her station, Jon. If you care for her at all, then you should let her go find it.”

Nodding her head, signaling her departure, she walked away from Jon...leaving the man alone with his thoughts.

***

After a long while in Sansa’s rooms, Jon found himself going to the place he had always gone to think...the place where the man he thought his father would escape to when he needed the gods to weigh in on his thoughts. A trait he passed on to his sons...and nephew it would seem, because both are now before the weirwood tree.

“Bran...” Jon’s voice quiet and deep, the sound creating a vibration in the tranquility both men sought to find. Watching his cousin turn his head, as if he were looking to find the location of Jon’s voice.

“Welcome home, Jon.” Sincerity lined his cousin’s disquieted voice.

This was the first voice that sounded natural in their welcome, Jon musters an effort to smile, his feelings a disjointed collection that screams at him to move...and he does. Walking to Bran’s chair, his right hand grips his cousin’s left shoulder in fondness. Exhausted from learning that Sansa had left Winterfell, leaving no clues to her location and he without means of finding her...for he realizes now two things: firstly...more people were aware of their relationship that he had ever thought, and second...no one in Winterfell wanted him to find her. They all think she is better off without him. Conceivably they might be correct in their assumptions, but would Sansa had left if she for one moment thought he still loved her. He does not think she would have gone. Been a fury to rival the next coming of the dead, yes...but he thinks deep down that they love each other entirely too much for her not to have fought with him, for them...even with Daenerys in the mix. She is gone and he has only himself to blame. His silence left her to find meaning in the unknown and now her understandings have become her truth. His cowardice allowed this to happen. Jon knows he does not deserve Sansa or her forgiveness for how he led her astray from his feelings. But if he could find the opportunity to find her, he would, and he is determined to bring her home...to him. Until then, he now must face the brother who has lost a sister, and he not sure what may come of the reception.

Settling onto the large stone beside the Bran facing the weirwood, he finally looks to his cousin’s face, and his immediate notice went to Bran’s eyes. They were clouded white. Jon had seen eyes like that before. They had belonged to the blinded maester at Castle Black...his ancestor, Aemon Targaryen...the man with whom he shared a name. His hands moved to his cousin’s face, cradled just so, as though any additional touch would bring more damaged to what is clearly a newly acquired injury. “Bran. What in the hells happened to you? Your eyes...” his voice quieting into a whisper as though the evident didn’t require Jon to make it more real that the situation already was. 

“There are limits to my abilities it seems. I was able to go into Drogon, but not through regular channels. Seems as if the Red woman left a few items to aid us in our fight.” Bran reaches up for the hands that are touching his face. Jon feels the young man’s strong grip on his wrist, signaling the desire to be released. 

“What do you mean _ “not through regular channels..._? What did she do? What did she see?” Jon inquired, still unclear as to how Bran lost his sight, his cousin sparking more questions than understanding. 

“She told us little to nothing. She spoke with Clegane, told him that we would need some help after that night. On her return trip to Essos she found certain artifacts that were used by the early Valyrians to bind dragons to them. I went into the past to see how they were able to accomplish such a feat. We did the ritual. Sam and I planned it out just so...following the spells as it was written. I even had Sansa there to help...there was a point Jon, where I almost could not hold the beast any longer, but Sansa’s blood helped...her Stark blood. Then after it was over, she took care of me. Once she knew I was to survive, she left, but not before she made sure I was fortified as the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, with the right people to help me as I recover...and quite possibly beyond that time. Ever so clever our Sansa turned out to be.” Brandon trailed off.

Jon’s mind tried to keep pace with the details of Brandon’s story. Rituals, blood...Sansa’s blood, Bran’s life at risk. What kind of damnation did he bring his family in to? The thought of Sansa allowing, no...enduring an expense she had not been asked to assist with, bearing a blade as it cut some part of her body, all to help Bran...who in turn was doing this for Jon. She did this even though Jon had left, and she had asked him not to go South...but to wait. Now she had additional marks gifted to her indirectly by me. Jon felt bile rest on the back of his tongue, the burn of the acid as he swallows his bodies physical rejection of such a thought. 

Jon understood Bran had been practicing his ability to warg into a dragon. If his cousin was not sure of his abilities, then Jon would have tried to find another way. Yes, his options at the time were limited, but if he had known this was how Bran intended to help... “I am so sorry Brandon.” It seems like the gods still had more to take from his cousin, this time Jon was the tool that extracted another piece from the younger man. The guilt threatened to swallow him. 

Brandon gestures an acceptance of Jon’s apology, “I would have done it regardless. It truly was the only way Jon.” Silence blankets the men, both lost to their own thoughts. 

Crouching down to be closer to Bran, heads bent towards each other. “Was it really the only way Bran? Did you see it? Before we left, did you know what would happen? Rhaegal, Missandei...Daenerys in the end...” Not sure what answer he was hoping for. 

“The potential for it...well, yes it was possible, but not definite.” Bran murmured. 

Jon steps away as he rises. He pushes down a sliver of anger, even though he can see the price his cousin paid for helping him, he tries to bank it but he hears the emotion in his voice, it’s there because if Bran had spoken then this would not have occurred...Daenerys, Kings Landing, Bran’s blindness....Sansa’s sacrifice. “Why would you not warn us?”

Bran raises his head, as though he could still see the sky, a doubtful expression trickled off of him. “Would you have truly listened? Would you have believed my suppositions? Do you think Daenerys would have heed any advice I would have offered, if I could not guarantee the outcome? Would my words of the hypothetical steer your course?” 

The young Lord tilted his head towards Jon, “I remember the day after the battle, in the council room, when logic and reason were presented, and it was dismissed. Not only by Daenerys...but by her Unsullied commander, her advisors, _and by you._ Jon remembers the day well. He can still hear Sansa’s voice as she requested a delay in their departure for the men to rest, and her intention of conferring with the military leaders in camp to propose a timeline for Daenerys. Jon shuts his eyes when he recalls how he looked at her and how he had rejected her words though he knew she was not wrong in her suggestion. The memory of the evening before, his stilted exchange with Dany in his chambers...he just wanted to distance both sides of himself in that room. He knew his reasons to advocate for were selfish, but he wonders why the other advisors remained silent. Did they truly feel as Dany had? That the time had come, for they had been on this journey with her for so many years. 

Bran continues, his considerations unbroken. “The tension between us...the Starks and the North, the Targaryen and her entourage...it was volatile Jon. Have you forgotten what it felt like? While I find an ease in the ability to disconnect from the living, I was not blinded to the undercurrents that existed.” Jon grips Bran’s shoulder, anger turned inward and replaced by recognition that Bran had been in a difficult position. A position Jon did bring to their door when he committed his forces to Daenerys’s campaign. For committing himself was not the same as committing a people. He was thinking of his promise to her, but not the promise he made to the North. 

Bran’s cold hand, pats Jon, an old soul this young man has become, Jon thought, much older than I and all this has aged me greatly. “Imagine if I was wrong and my prediction did not turn in Daenerys’s favor, what do you think would have occurred then? I took a chance, a risk that in the end whatever the conclusion...good or bad...which befell the South would rest on the shoulders of Daenerys and all those who followed her. So once again, given what transpired in Kings Landing, it was the only way and whatever ills developed are mine to carry for the decision I made not to insist.”

Thinking on Bran’s words, Jon disagreed. “You were right, that had you insisted the plan would have still remained on course...that a supposition would not have altered the progress that had be determined. Every action impacts the next, and delaying our departure could have yielded the initial situation you encountered...increased potential outcomes with no confirmation. If things had gone differently, then we would not be here now, but that is not on you to carry. The loss of your sight is directly related to me and my choices...for had I known this would happen to you-”

“You would not have done it, and where would we be now. I saw Daenerys after the fall...her speech. Eventually we all would have been called to act, and the Gods only know what would have happened to us then. You broke her momentum before she would have more engagements to mourn. I think, in time, everything still would have fallen apart, perhaps differently that it has here, and all she would have been left with is time to lament her actions.” Jon thinks about Bran’s estimations, and he knows that his cousin is right. “She is stubborn, and quick-tempered, but she does have compassion for others...unfortunately they don’t always work simultaneously to temper her actions. Not the most ideal quality in a ruler though, truth be told. We’ve talked to much about this. It’s done Jon, and it can’t be changed...not for me. I have accepted it, now you must too.” 

Seeing as they will never agree on the costs to Bran for helping Jon, he’ll take his guilt for it belongs to him as he honors his cousin’s request to discontinue the topic. Jon continues to ask about what occurred after the ritual. “Sansa sustained injury to her hands, but with care she mended well enough to monitor her well-being and my own.” Her hands, Jon thought...a place that she once said helped her disguise the extent of Ramsey’s abuses. _ “He made sure never to mark me where anyone could see...”_ Jon felt the reasons for Sansa to leave before his arrival multiply with that knowledge alone. 

“I was sedated for a while, my body just seemed to crave rest. It was a long time before I awoke. The worse of it are my eyes, though I do suffer from the occasional memory lapse, and seizures have been known to claim me at times. I know at some point, Sam wasn’t completely confident I would survive, but he said Sansa and Meera would not hear of it.” Jon sees Bran lips twist in a smirk...one that seems out of place from the conversation at hand. He does not think is intended for him. 

“Meera Reed?” Jon inquires.

“Yes, Lord Howland Reed’s daughter. She arrived shortly after. Once Sansa left, Meera still remained at Winterfell.” Jon notices a shift in the expression that graces Bran’s face. It’s one he recognizes...one he has felt his face morph into, where muscles settle along a well paved path around the eyes and mouth, and the heart swells for the deep desires that dwell within. It’s a countenance of love. 

“You love her.” Jon speaks aloud, not really looking for confirmation, just making a statement.

“Just about as much as you love Daenerys, and...Sansa.” Jon looks directly at Bran but feels as though his cousin see more clearly without sight as we did with it. The silence in the woods are deafening. The atmosphere surrounding the men remains pleasant but there is a sheer curtain that divides them. Jon is not sure how to respond. The young man who has spent more years as his brother than his cousin, just matter-of-factly acknowledged what he and Sansa tried so hard to hide. Another piece of evidence that the only person he had been deceiving was himself. For Sansa always remained resolved in her feelings for him. Even in Kings Landing, Arya had told him of her suspicion regarding him and Sansa. She took more issue with his choice to try and save Daenerys than the acknowledgement that he was in love with the woman who he was raised to believe was his half-sister. Her words echo in a memory, _“While I will always see you as my brother Jon. I know that was never the case between you and Sansa. Do I think what you feel for each other is right? I do not know. All I can say is that my own life is full of choices I made to ensure my survival. Many of the them, I think, Father would be ashamed to see, but I made them all the same and I live with the consequences. You and my sister lived through your own hells, and I will not judge you for securing what you needed. It might take me some time for my mind to catch up with what my heart already knows.”_ She huffed out her frustration, her Stark eyes boring into him. Her visage unreadable, but her disappointment in her voice was unmistakable. _“ The day in the Godswood, it was Sansa you spoke of...not Daenerys.”_ Her dark brow lifted as she shook her head. _ “You never have been one to do things the easy way. One would think you’d learn, but perhaps you are more of a Targaryen than we thought. Damn you to the Stranger, Jon...” _ her voice exasperated. The recollection fell away. His family knew and the world had not crumbled.

Brandon’s heavy sigh the only sound to be heard between them. His voice strong, but laced with censure “You hurt her, Jon.” Hearing what he already knows, coming from someone who loves them both, pierced Jon to his core, causing him to drop to his knees. “You hurt her more than I think you can fully comprehend.” Jon’s eyes unseeing as he stares at the snow below him. The cold of the elements seeping into his leathers. “Your injury to Sansa...there is only so much a person can withstand before they let go of that which they once held dear. Both of you are guilty of repeated silences and half-truths. For Sansa, it seems as though they ate at her until there was very little left of the woman you knew.” Breathe is now difficult to catch...he broke her, and in doing so he broke them.

Jon has no defense against Brandon’s charge. For he did not have to consummate his feelings for Sansa to be forthright with her regarding Winterfell and the North, he could have explained why transferring the sovereignty to Daenerys was based on real salient logic and not as amorously driven as his actions made it seem, perhaps that could have changed the outcome of Kings Landing. In matters of the heart, he should have left her a letter when he could not find her, telling her he loved her and that he would be back. Jon runs his hands into his hair, pulling away strands caught within his long fingers as he tugged hard enough to bring pain. Angry with himself more than anything, he uses the physical discomfort to shift the focus away from the emotional one. 

Looking back at the young placid man seated in his chair, feeling a deep ache by his self-inflicted hurt, he was compelled to speak, his voice hoarse to his own ears, “Bran, it was complicated, and then the truth of my parentage made it less so.” 

Jon thinks that for all the mistakes, his decision not to sleep with Sansa was not one of them...no matter how much that step seemed to be a natural progression. There would have been no going back if they had crossed that line...but in hindsight hadn’t they crossed another type of line. Is physical love worse than emotional love? Are the lines crossed worse for physical release than for an emotional one? Having experienced both, Jon does not think it so. For if Sansa was hurt by his act of physically loving Daenerys, Jon is well aware of Daenerys’s deep insecurity over his emotional connection to Sansa. Now he has both with Daenerys, though he feels there are times she doubts the strength in it, but he wants both with Sansa and her absence makes the possibility of having it all with her ever unlikely. Jon does not deserve Sansa forgiveness, but even if she has stopped loving him...he must try to bring her home.

“I understand complicated Jon. Meera’s brother sacrificed his life for mine and I acted as though the cost didn’t matter. I couldn’t explain it then. It is still hard to explain now, but I learned with her that I must...she is worth fighting my own demons just for the chance to have her with me. My life is complicated. I was once a boy with dreams of being either of magic or a knight...a winner of all tourneys where songs would be written about me. Then I fell but then I learned to fly...and somewhere between the falling and the flying...I forgot how to feel, for myself and for others. I made many momentous mistakes with Meera, Jojen, and Hodor. All from the time we went beyond the wall and even once we returned.” Bran breathes deeply, his sigh sounding to Jon like purging of regret. 

“I currently struggle to reconcile the Bran that still has human frailties, such as, love, desire, want, with the Three-Eyed Raven that seems to want nothing. But since the battle against the dead, the human desires seem more persistent than ever. Sansa told me that even in my worst moment I knew to ask for Meera. That woman has been my touchstone to this world for a long time now.” Jon witnesses Bran’s eyes going soft as he continues to recount his conversation with Sansa. “She thought I should make amends if I really loved Meera. And I do love her, and though I don’t deserve it, she loves me.”

Jon smiles at his cousin, the conversation taking a turn he had not conceived. “I have asked Meera to stay in Winterfell...as my wife.” Jon is shocked, but pleased for Bran. “Meera said she probably shouldn’t love me, but then she reminded me that, _ “Our love was birth under extreme circumstances that no one could pull apart, not even us...no matter how hard we tried to ruin it.”_ Maybe this hold true for you too, Jon?”

Taking another chance, thinking that perhaps his cousin will tell him where Sansa is, Jon guards himself against disappointment. Though between Bran’s words and responsive countenance, he thinks the Gods might have shined a blessing in his direction. His voice low and deep... tinged with nervousness that could be heard with his own ears, “Where is she, Bran?” 

Bran nods; a grim chuckle bubbles forth from his mouth...which seemed out of place with the conversation at hand. With no clue given to Jon to prepare him for the news of Sansa’s location, his body is poised to find his horse and follow her. 

“She left a moon turn ago, so by now she is at...Castle Black”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bracing for impact...


	25. Daenerys VIII Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys and Sansa have both been at Castle Black for almost a week. The conversations continue, and each discussion has Daenerys considering that they may have more in common than she previously thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder: Keep comment constructive and positive. Stay open to dissenting opinions...and enjoy the world of fan fiction. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

It had been a full two days before Daenerys could bring herself to leave her room. It wasn’t that she was hiding from Sansa Stark, but rather she was trying to keep her temper to a manageable state, for all these negative feelings could not be good for her babe. Her mind reverting back to her previous pregnancy...the tension, the anxiety, the desperation that caused her to be reckless, with her child bearing the consequence for her rashness. 

Deciding on going to the baths for a much-needed washing. One of the Northmen told her that recently a set of structures had been designated to house baths for all the occupants at Castle Black. During her time here, her cleansing ritual consisted of warm water and cold rinses. The thought of a true bath was worth the risk of running into Sansa Stark. She sets her path towards the dwellings that housed large vats of warmed water. She had heard that some barrels were cooled to a bearable heat, while other were heated to such a scalding boiling point, only to be cooled with large chunks of ice once again for further uses. 

Not caring what inspired such an idea, she was just grateful it existed. 

Daenerys found herself in the first hut. There seemed to be a fur covered partition between the tubs and the dressing area. Quick to remove her outer clothes, grateful to find the heat captured behind the furs, she didn’t pay particular attention to the possibility that someone would be using the baths. It wasn’t until she turned away from the fur curtain to climb into the tub did she see it currently occupied. Just her luck, the one person she wanted to avoid was now before her. The air in the hot room decreased several degrees. 

“Hmmm...there is no way for you to walk away unseen and for me to pretend you were not here. You might as well come in Daenerys. Your liable to catch a death, and that will just add more item for Jon to blame me for.” Sansa rests her head against the edge of the barrel, eyes looking towards the ceiling, offering Daenerys some privacy, though Dany did notice Sansa’s eyes had widen at seeing her expanding waistline. Her eyes shuttered closed but not before Dany saw a hint of sadness. Not a fool herself, she knows her pregnancy hurts Sansa, but she does not feel guilty for her child for the conception took place way before she knew of Sansa as Jon’s...other. Her pregnancy won’t help his cause she thinks...perhaps that will work in her favor without having to do or say much in that regard. 

Once Daenerys has settled down, the water creeps to her neck, same as he had for the Stark woman. The tension palpable. Looking back at Sansa, there were strands from their previous conversation that niggled at her. She has no doubt that Sansa unburdened herself on Daenerys...and turnabout is fair play, is it not. 

Now that Sansa knows she had planned to go North regardless of the previous request that Jon hand the North to her. She wants the woman to admit that the North needed her armies, her dragons, her alliance. “As much as I do not wish to dwell on our previous conversation, some things can’t be unspoken neither unheard. You said that I was not at fault for the North...does that mean you see the value in my coming?”

Sansa stares at her, a considering look bestowed on her. “When it was all done, seeing and then knowing what Jon meant when he said the dead were upon us, after the dead ceased to rise...and the settling of the personal losses felt following that battle...Yes, I could see that Jon was correct in bringing you North.” Daenerys could feel her right brow quirk in surprise even though that was more than she was expecting the woman to voice out loud. “While it was my sister who landed the blow that killed the Night King,...” The redhead tilts her head as if to listen carefully to a whispered word, “Cersei and Lord Baelish both taught me that moments in time need to happen just so, for the right outcome to appear.” Straightening her head, her long red hair floating beside her. “While it might be factual to say it was Arya who ended it all, everyone there played their parts just as they were needed to and that included you...and your people, for if one part of the equation was missing, all would have been lost that night.”

“Is that akin to a polite expression of acknowledgment...a thank you of a kind?” Daenerys inquires, she hears the reprimand in her own voice, for even she is not sure if this woman’s admission of appreciation could ever dispel Dany’s negative feelings towards her. 

Sansa long sigh rents the air. “If you are asking for the events in the North, then...most certainly. As for your actions afterward, my appreciation ends where the North borders the South.” Daenerys watched as the other woman tilted her head back to rest on the ledge of the barrel. She felt her lips pucker, an attempt to keep words she rather not say to herself, but something pulled at her to ask Sansa what did she think...now that the events of the South were now common knowledge across the Seven Kingdoms. “I am curious Sansa; do you feel vindicated? I did exactly what you thought I would do.” Not completely sure she wants this woman to answer, but too late to take the question away. 

Sansa rolls her head up to look at Daenerys once again, those cold blue eyes measuring her, expecting a scathing reply to leave Sansa Stark’s lips. “No.” Dany’s eyes widen, her back stiffens...not prepared for that response. Sansa lips take on an ironic appearance. “I’ve seen too many people in authority. I have been subjected to their mercurial moods and sadistic whims, so I know what it looks like when people are blinded by their power.” The red head sinks down lower, the water rising just below her bottom lip, her hair beginning to bubble over the side of the barrel. She sighed deeply, creating a ripple in the water. The small waves catching Dany’s eye. 

The woman continues...seeming to Daenerys as she is lost in her own memories, “I’ve seen it all. How they react to others who call them out on their baser-behaviors? How they react to those who challenge their thoughts or the beliefs they have about themselves? My intimate familiarities with the more depraved of our human brethren have honed my instincts to sense such individuals. Those are people to always be cautious of.”

Daenerys bristles at the assumption she is like the people Sansa spoke of, and she was is immediately drawn on to the defensive, but Jon’s words come to mind. _“You will always have to remember that your actions in Kings Landing silenced whatever her positive intentions she may have had. That will be the long-term consequence of your decision to sack the city. Moving forward will require you to accept how people may initially view you in a negative light, and those perceptions may never change. Nevertheless, you must find ways to bring them around to your way of thinking if you want to start to make amends to a kingdom. I think it is worth a shot, the first step is to acknowledging their reticence.”_ “I have known the madness and cruelty, until I married my first husband. Though at the time I hadn’t seen it for the deliverance it had turned out to be. My brother. He was extraordinarily cruel, his specialty...the perfect combination of emotional pain and humiliation with a hint of physical abuse...I was his favorite subject. I know it may not seem like it, but I am not like those people you spoke of. I do not take joy in other’s pain, but I do admit that I am capable of inflicting it.”

“Hmmm...that’s is a more honest response than I expected.” Daenerys spies Sansa looking directly at her...those blue eye illuminating the intelligence behind them. Dany may have felt many things for Sansa...more often negative, but those eyes...they were the first clue that she had met a new type of opponent. Sansa Stark may be many things, but she is a very shrewd woman. “My experiences won’t allow me to bend to another’s whim. Not again. I would have rather died by dragon fire if I had to.” Daenerys found the tone of Sansa’s voice to be uncharacteristically unemotional, for she could always hear an undercurrent of feelings below the surface of every word she ever uttered in Daenerys’s direction. 

“I would not have burned you...” Daenerys spoke, but stopped at the arched disbelief on Sansa face.

“Daenerys, you burned a city full of people, who you didn’t know, because they what...stupidly sought protection from Cersei. Then there was me. The woman who you did not like. The whistleblower of Jon’s secret. Our tension before you left Winterfell was a breathing living thing, so forgive me if I find your reassurance just a little bit hard to accept.” Sansa’s voice dripped with sarcasm, a sardonic lift to her lips. 

Daenerys wanted to deny the woman’s words, but found that she could not, so without creating additional pressure on this already difficult situation she kept silent. While Dany would be happy to never see Sansa Stark ever again, she feels that their fates are intertwined in such as way...making that wish impossible. Not if Dany chooses to be with Jon. Whether Sansa decided to be with him or not, the beautiful woman is still his family and he will always be linked to her in some type of way. In an attempt to bring an end to the prolonged silence she revises her original statement, “For Jon, I would not have burned you...taken away your title, yes, banishment...a better option, but death...he would have saved you.”

Sansa smiles as she returns her head to the ledge. “Yes, I think he might have tired...and that knowledge would have encouraged you to do it sooner rather than later. Best to ask for forgiveness after the fact and all that...yes...”

“Did that rationale help to you when you betrayed Jon?” Daenerys shot back, but the redhead just smiled and nodded her head. “Hmmm...well aimed, Daenerys.” 

The quiet that followed had Dany thinking that the woman may be right, she would have disposed of Sansa sooner, and she would have trusted that she could have gotten Jon to forgive her for the act. Dany decides to move away from the current discussion, but returning back to an assertion she thought to be an unfair depiction of her. “I must say I take offense being placed in the same category as those who do not welcome challenging perspectives. You know very little of how I spent my life. After I was able to escape from my brother, I learned about the world through others point of view...the Unsullied, Dothraki, my people in Meereen.” Feelings her legs begin to numb, she moves into another comfortable position, before continuing. 

“My advisors have always challenged me. Tyron and Missandei challenged me the most. It was always done with respect and in the privacy out of the eyes of others. It was through our confidential conversations that I learned about challenging expectation.” Sansa remains silent, ever watchful...Dany notes. 

“Missandei once told me a story about her home country of Naath. Apparently the nation had been invaded, but many of the occupiers where cut down by a simple butterfly.” Sansa’s brow creased; a look of confusion graced her face. Daenerys smiled, for Sansa Stark seldom seems to ever be confused. “It was an illness transferred by the insects that killed most of the slavers. Butterflies make me think of her. Does Westeros have butterflies? I never thought to ask...” Daenerys voice faded and she closed her eyes. It’s easier to imagine Missandei, to see her when she shuts the reality of the world away. Daenerys mind appreciates her as she once was... happy and in love...a true faithful friend. Sadly, many times the good memories are ruined by the appearance of Missandei’s last moments. A lone tear makes it way down her face. “She knew me, my strengths and my faults, and I never had to worry that she would use them against me. While I was fortunate to have her and other decent people in my life, that wasn’t always the case, so I can relate to refusing to be subjected to another’s personal will. It was something I never had to do after my dragons hatched.”

Sansa was still as Dany spoke, those eyes drew her in, almost like a trapped fly inside of a jar of honey, pulling her down till she is immovable. It is quite the skill, and she internally applauds her for it. Sansa’s voice pulls her out of her musings. “Word from the South said you had burned Varys. Wasn’t he one of your most trusted advisors?”

Daenerys fine hairs on the back of her neck begin to rise. Her inner dragon not as settled as she would have liked. Her voice devoid of warmth, “He betrayed me. I had warned him of what would happen should he do so.” Most people would see her signs, and know not to persist in such a way with her. Seems Sansa had no care nor compulsion to stop. 

“Well, perhaps he did, I was not there. I do wonder though; did you decide to burn him then because he betrayed you or was it because he openly challenge your baser instincts at an inopportune time. Was he not respectful? He seemed dutiful enough at Winterfell.” Daenerys quaked gently under the hot water, where the eyes were not visible. She was glad for the coverage for she did not want to explode over the words this woman spoke, because to do so would give her the knowledge that she was more affected than Dany tried to hide. That was not power she wanted to gift to Sansa Stark. 

“You said once you had your dragons you understood the refusal to bend to another’s will.” Sansa slowly rises from her seated position, the water running down her flat torso, over shapely legs, and down back into the tub...her hair wet and trailing over her shoulder covering her left breast. “I did not have the luxury of dragons. My education came to me in a difficult manner, and the tutelage originated at the hands of those who have always underestimated me. My body the proprietor of their coursework.” Daenerys’s wide eyes travel over the young woman’s scarred body, as Sansa departed for the dressing room, leaving Dany to speculate on what particular horrors were visited upon Sansa Stark.

***

After the baths, Daenerys found herself alone again with her thoughts. Her ire raging at the challenge that she sentenced Varys to a dishonorable death vexed her. But the sight of the gashes, puckered flesh, and carved marks on the skin of Sansa Stark shook her to her core. What kinds of violence did this woman endure? Who were the perpetrators? While she may not consider herself a lover of all things Sansa Stark, she is humane enough to have compassion for the person who withstood such brutality. Was Jon aware of her disfigurement? Had he met out vengeance in her name? Was the last thing they saw was his beloved Longclaw embed into their depraved blackened hearts. Daenerys hoped to the gods that he had, and she even wished Sansa to witness it all. Maybe the blue-eyed woman was correct...they both have an intimate understanding of vengeance.

Finding sleep eluding her, she climbs out of bed check the time of day...the sun beginning to brighten the sky. Daenerys quickly dresses and dons her furs before she exits her room. The two guards posted at her door gesture in acknowledgement, both men ready to follow her. If she thought her Unsullied willing, she would command the men to stop guarding her at night, for see truly did not sense danger here...even with Sansa Stark in residence. She thinks that perhaps the Northern would insist out of loyalty to Sansa...to keep Daenerys away from her like the men had tried the times she had attempted to gain access to lift. 

Desiring to go for a walk, hoping it might purge her thoughts and her sympathies she proceeds to the long tunnel that exits on the other side of the wall. As she comes to the end, her guards walk in front of her to protect her for a threat she is sure no longer exist on this side of the wall. When they come out of the tunnel the sun’s rays illuminate the snow, each flake almost recognized for its own shape before it melts into a small drop to rest on the surface of its kin. Thinking that the air is too warm for just the sun to heat, she turns to see Sansa Stark near a small fire pit...a small blueprint of a keep, one that looks a lot like Winterfell. 

The noise made by her guards, caught Sansa’s attention for she was staring at them from behind the flames. Daenerys could continue onward or to go back, but the heavier she is with child, the more breaks she needs to take...even from the simplest task of walking, so instead of resting in the cold she decides to walk to the Stark woman. 

“Good Morning Daenerys...” Sansa murmurs. “Good Morning Sansa.” She quietly replies.  
The reticence between the women is profound, so much so that the guards seem at unease to stand on the periphery of their tensed quietness. It appears her babe demanded to make it attention know in the form of a violent wave of nausea that caused her to clutch her mouth as she ran towards the trees. This brought all attention onto her, but all having the good graces to leave her to this task. Once she trusted her child not to rebel once again, she took a deep breath before going back. When she returned her Northern guard gave her a piece of dried bread, they all learned that helped to settle her when these bouts of queasiness arose. Sansa passed her a water flask. Daenerys most embarrassed for Sansa to witness her in this state. For your enemies should never see you low. Nevertheless, she takes the proffered drink. 

“Does this happen often? My mother was rarely ill. I believe my two youngest brothers were the exceptions.” Sansa asked, her eyes looking into the fire before her. 

“Yes...throughout the day in fact.” Daenerys feels like sharing that news is a betrayal, but a betrayal of what...she is not sure.

“You seem well cared for. Your men loyal to you, those you brought and those you have seemed to gain.” Sansa’s eyes looked up at the Northerner who gave her the bread. “That knowledge must alleviate some of the pressures your temporary exile has procured.”

Daenerys thinks on Sansa’s word for a moment. Considering how everything went so wrong upon her return to Westeros, she is still safe in a place that has every reason to hunt and destroy her. “I am very fortunate considering.” Not wanting to examine the reasons why she felt secure...at least not with Sansa. 

Her mind goes to Jorah. “Engendering loyalty is never an easy thing, for as women we hold very little by way of resources that are of value, which keep the steady currency of loyalty afloat. But I can admit that after my marriage I found myself at times fortunate than most. Currently I find myself living the opposite of my destiny, but I have managed to incur some loyalty, though none as durable as Jorah, but that may come in time...for he and I had many years together.” Dany releases a pained sigh. Her heart always lurches when she thinks of her valiant friend and protector.

Daenerys can feel Sansa’s gaze upon her, ice blue eyes unreadable, her expression neutral. “Seems like we both learned lessons about loyalty, especially a man’s loyalty to a woman. You had Jorah Mormont and I had Petyr Baelish. After I was truly embedded with Littlefinger, I well-educated in betrayal by Lord Baelish. I thought he wanted to save me from the abuse I suffered at the hands of the Lannister. I contributed his assistance to the fondness he once held for my mother and her family, the Tully’s.” Sansa shifted on the log she sat upon, her thumbs and forefingers rubbing together, lulling the woman into a trace. In a distracted voice she continued. “I discovered afterwards that he was not what he presented himself to be, not with my Aunt...his lover, and not towards me...his ward. It was through him that I found myself at the subjugation of the Bolton’s.” Shaking her head and taking a deep breath, Sansa appeared to move herself away from memories that look to haunt her. “Did you ever find Ser Jorah to be anything but loyal to you?” Sansa inquired. 

Daenerys did not expect the question. Clearly she knew her history, but the answer is not so easy to explain to others. “He had. I had learned that Jorah was spying for Varys. This information was used in an attempt to sway Robert Baratheon into offering him a pardon. His information prompted Robert to move against me. It started everything...in many respects.” Like Jon, it was not a betray she could have foreseen...the difference between the men is one did it to save her from herself and the other did it solely for himself. “I had exiled him, but he always kept coming back to protect me, at great risk to himself. I could tell him repentant, and I accepted him back over time. Then he was ill, and I begged him leave to get well and return once he had...and he did.” Daenerys found the grip around her heart tighten, the river of tears held at bay, but present. Her voice soft and adrift, “Ever faithful, ever loyal. When I think about all I’ve lost since coming to Westeros, I become a bit undone when I think about the loss of him. He was there from the start...he knew me before I was anything more than a Khalessi. I don’t have many of those people like him left to me.”

The burning of the wood creates the only sounds around them. A large warm body brushes against Daenerys back. She stiffens in alarm, turning slowly to look behind her, she sees the white fur of Jon’s wolf. The animal sits in front of the fire. His red eyes looking at them, as though assessing each female. What he is looking for, she does not know? But whatever he saw created grounds for the beast to rest between them. 

“It looks as though we both are well versed in the art of betrayal after all.”

“Yes, it seems. Perhaps treachery is more common than one might like to admit. Though the end may not have been what you would have chosen, Jorah spent the remainder of his life making amends to gain his Lady’s trust.” Standing abruptly, Sansa dismisses herself, caressing Ghost’s flank as she walked past. Daenerys inconspicuously looks in the woman’s direction, the wall swallowing her as she enters the tunnel’s entryway. 

Dany slowly turns her head back to the fire, but her momentum is stalled by the piercing gaze of Ghost’s garnet eyes. Her mind goes to Sansa’s final words..._ Jorah spent the remainder of his life making amends to gain his Lady’s trust._ And it looks like the Lady of Winterfell’s savior spent the remainder of his life trying to destroy hers.”

***

On Sansa’s forth day in residency, Daenerys found herself thinking about Jon. She misses him deeply. It is one thing for her to know that he left her to go to Sansa, but it’s very different absorbing what that would feel like. Especially since the object of his quest is here with her instead of being at Winterfell. Not sure of which idea is worse...Jon and Sansa apart or Jon and Sansa together.

Needing to stop such maddening thoughts, she goes on a walk. Dany decides to searches for Tormund. She is not sure what she wants with the large man. He has been cordial towards her, humored her questions, and provided companionship and levity in the evenings after a long day of physical work. She makes it a point not to disturb him during the day, not wanting to become any more of a burden on anyone’s time or resources.

A familiar loud laugh signals to Dany that the man is near. She walks past a group of Free Folk children running around...unbridled and unburdened, joy lit in their voices as the chase each other. The sound so different from her own childhood makes her smile all the same. She hopes one day her child will sound just as carefree. Walking past the tanning area, the rancid smell making her want to heave, she arrives to the set of rooms set aside for the making hut and tent coverings. It seems there are more game to be found further South from where most of the Free Folk hail. They are hunting, skinning, tanning, and sewing before they depart for their homesteads. 

She hears his voice just as she is about to approach the room. “I can give a good piercing to the most difficult of barriers, Red. Don’t you worry about it.”

A scolding tone replies, jest laced around her words. “I do not think Ser Brienne would liken herself to a barrier that is in need of a...piercing, Tormund. Now stop dallying and pick up your needle. You might be just as bad as Arya at avoiding the task of sewing...and she was extremely adept at deflecting.”

Daenerys eavesdrops a bit as she remains hidden by the wall near the open door. Not sure to stay or leave...no leaving is what she wants to do. She’s about to depart when she hears a pained voice.

“Saaaaansaaaaaa!” he moans. 

“Tormund that is enough! You have a ridiculous number of holes in your clothes and no wife to repair them. That leaves the task up to you. So, since the art of stitching was remiss from your early education, I plan to rectify that. Now pick up that damn needle and your shirt.” Sansa’s exasperated voice echoed through the room. Her tone now gentle as she gave him praise for complying with her directives. “Very good. Nice spacing...oooh, not too tight. You want to keep an even amount of tension...sort of like when you pull an arrow against the bow. That’s it...well done, Tormund.”

Daenerys felt uncomfortable listening to a private moment. They are close. Sansa and Tormund. Dany knew this. She saw them at Winterfell. They were easy with each other. The night of the feast when he spoke of Jon riding the dragon and daring him to drink the goat’s milk, Sansa’s body language was so open and comfortable with that group...with Jon and Tormund. She hasn’t quite gained that level of familiarity with Jon’s trusted friend. She is not sure if she ever can. 

Moving to retrace her steps back to her quarters, she walks into Yailan. “Hello, Daenerys. Looking to help with the sewing. Good. We could use the help.” The older woman ushers Dany into the room. Aiming for neutrality in her countenance, she wonders at her success, when Sansa’s eyes narrow...the astuteness sorting out the likelihood that Daenerys true motivation wasn’t to help with the task of sewing. Daenerys knows she has no skill with a needle. She had never learned how to sew. Servants mended that was torn, they stitched all her clothes, her world had no need for such an ability. Then when she and Viserys were put out into the streets, whatever tore remained that way until her brother could replace the items.

“Come here Daenerys. I can get you started with sorting patterns and pinning pieces together. Gives those with the talent for sewing, like Sansa over there, less work to do.” Yailan’s voice gentled. Dany grateful to save some face in a difficult situation. 

After a while Dany found herself so focused on the task at hand, the rest of the world seemed to disappear, for now it was evening and the sun had receded for the day. The room was so quiet, she thought herself alone. Grateful for the task that kept thoughts of Jon’s departure at bay, she passed a cursory look as she stretched her back. She sees Sansa, the woman just as focused, as Daenerys must have looked moments before. 

Dany doesn’t know what made her speak. The other woman wasn’t attending her, allowing Dany an escape without further conversation. She is only to blame for the words that leave her mouth. Her impetuousness, her immediate instance to always have an answer to all her questions, her expectation that people will give her what she wants to know. Dany had been thinking of Jon, and deep down she knows that thoughts of him prompted her rash speech. Leaving her wishing to retract her questions as soon as she said them.

“You knew Jon was coming back North, so I must ask, why are you at Castle Black and not in Winterfell? What are your plans Sansa?”

The room remained silent for so long that Daenerys began to wonder if the woman had heard her speaking. There have been times when she gets lost in her own thoughts that she becomes lost to reality; she knows that phenomena happens to more than just her. Thinking she may have been granted a blessing in Sansa not hearing her, Daenerys begins to walk quietly towards the exit. 

“I was aware of Jon’s return.” A hardened voice stops Daenerys from her intent. “I had no desire to see him, or you, so imagine my surprise to see you here.” Dany turned around to look at Sansa, but the woman had not lifted her eyes from the material in her hand, the rhymical mechanics of stitching making her hands act. “I am going further North with Hindya to help rebuild their settlement.” 

“I have some skills.” She looks up to Daenerys, gesturing to the task before her. “I am a hard worker. It might take me time, but I can learn new skills as well. I want to know how to live unrestricted, to find the freedom that comes so easily to Arya, Brienne, the Free Folk women.” Unhappy eyes returned to her chore. “I can’t do that at Winterfell. There are too many preconceived expectations of me as the daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark, as the Lady of Winterfell. I just want to figure out what being Sansa means.”

“Besides Bran is home, and he can take care of Winterfell. As for the North, it’s too far removed from the problems in the South, furthermore they are focused on rebuilding themselves. Since Jon gave you the North, and you technically took the throne before he confiscated it from you, it is now a reclaimed a part of the Seven Kingdoms. Whatever plans you, Jon, and Tyrion have will include the North, but the decisions to agree or not are for Bran to decide, not me.” 

Daenerys sits on a stool, her mind trying to process all Sansa has just shared. She wasn’t expecting the women to tell her anything, not really. The Sansa Stark she is acquainted with keeps her cards close to her chest. This woman revealed too much about herself. Dany couldn’t decipher a false word or misdirection. Sansa planned to leave. That was her goal. Perhaps asking these questions was a blessing in disguise. The woman was leaving to...find herself. Why did that sound woefully sad to Dany? Would Jon accept that? Could he just let Sansa go? Was Sansa going to release the hold she had on him? It seems these questions just generated more queries for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate all the support ladies and gents, as you travel this story with me. Thank you for the positivity and the passionate responses. Until the next post, happy reading!
> 
> ~Winter


	26. Daenerys VIII Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conversations between Daenerys and Sansa continue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really surprised, but very pleased, by the positive feedback from part 1 of Dany and Sansa's reunion. Let's see if this vibe continues :P
> 
> Remember to stay true to your opinions, but keep them helpful and constructive.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing...

Feeling that Sansa is in a mood to be candid; Daenerys persist, her voice sounding urgent to her own ears. “What about Jon?”

Sansa ceased her sewing, her voice infuriated and seethed, “What about Jon? He made his choice. Do you need me to say it? Do the depths of your self-regard know no bounds? He chose you.” finger pointed at her waist, “It is clear, with a child in your womb, that you have begun to build a family.” Dany considers that Sansa just exposed the depths of her pain. The information bared and now in Daenerys possession. Voice quieter and subdued, the tightly controlled Lady Stark returned before her eyes, voice listless, _”There is no me and Jon, Daenerys...not anymore.”_

Sansa put her project aside, standing from her workstation, she begins to put different tools away, closing the conversation. Daenerys began to ruminate. 

“When I was a girl, there were very few people who could tell me about my family history. My brother Viserys being my primary tutor. He made sure I was aware of my duty as his only sister, which was to be his wife, and to bare his children. Well, that was until he had to sell me to my first husband to gain an army. I don’t know what it is about Targaryen’s that make us malleable when it comes to love and sex in marriage. I have spent most of my carnal history with men who had no relation to me...not until Jon, and even then that was unplanned.” Daenerys speaks, her mind wandering to the different men in her life...starting with a silvery blonde-haired Targaryen man and ending with a raven-haired one. Her desire to know where Sansa would stand, should she become aware that matters differ from how she perceives, urges Dany to ask. “I am a Targaryen; we are raised not to have issue with a husband having another wife or consort. Would that bother you?”

A pair of shears slip from Sansa’s grip, and onto the floor, a look of disbelief ripples over her face. Sansa scoffs before bending down to pick up the cutters. “To be honest, I never really thought about it, but since I wanted a man I thought to be my half-brother, having a sister-wife of sorts wouldn’t be out of the realms of possibilities.” A slight hysterical laugh followed. Sansa placed the scissors on the desk, breathing deeply before she faced Daenerys, “But its neither here nor there. I am angry with Jon for so many reasons. We are too damaged to be anything more...a ghost of a twosome who were once fond of each other. I want to move on, and he’s already has. Therefore, Daenerys rest your thoughts for Jon doesn’t want me, at least not in the way I want to be wanted.” With a bit of forced levity, she sends Dany a measured look. “Furthermore, with this child you will always be connected to Jon, and I find that you are a bit too unpredictable for me. I am in need of a little more tedious in my life.”

***

A couple of days had past, since Daenerys had seen Sansa around the Keep. The tall woman had been very busy by the looks of things. Last night, Daenerys had learned from Freyla that the Free Folk of the Frozen Shore were the first tribe to leave Castle Black.

Dany is seated in the old Maester Aemon’s rooms. Her fingers brushing against boxes of scrolls that were once touched by her ancestor’s hands. She is saddened that she missed the chance to see a family member well versed in the Targaryen history. Part of her is a bit jealous that Jon was the one given that honor.

Jon...she estimates by now that he has either arrived or is due to arrive at Winterfell any day now. She imagines he will immediately begin his own journey to the frozen tundra beyond the wall in search of Sansa. To her dismay, this will mean that his proposed timeline will be extended. She is torn. Should she have told him where Sansa intends to go? Does she encourage him to go find her? Should she just stay silent on the matter? Wouldn’t his family in Winterfell inform him just has quickly. Does she demand he return to her? The last mandate she gave Jon Snow did not bode in her favor. Could she accept his answer should he deny her request?

At times, it remains difficult to admit to herself that Sansa has power over Jon, even if the Northerner does not see that she does. While Dany knows that Jon must see this through, with this particular Stark, she would just wish it all away. Completely confident in the knowledge that she does not have to stay, for Jon would keep his word and she could return to Meereen, she questions if she could truly walk away. There is very little doubt that she could raise their child on her own, but she honestly does not want to. Others might not understand why she chooses to stay, and they may deem her weak for it, but he is...he is what she wants. Daenerys means to have him, even if she might have to share him with Sansa. She realizes in the dissipation of her anger that blinded her before, that her love for them is stronger than her pride after all. Sighing in annoyance, she realizes that _Love_ is a domain she thinks she may never be able to master. 

The sound of the weathered door opening returns Daenerys back, to the dark stale room, with old pieces of parchment, and thoughts of Jon receded. A long-suffering breathe followed a voice she had not expected to hear in this place. “Pardon me, Daenerys, I was just here to fetch the medicinal recipes.”

Even when they have no reasons to find each other, the furies were determined to make sure she would have to face Sansa, every time she made the choice to leave her room. She was absolutely sure of it. It seems the deities were taking complete advantage of the opportunity to make them both suffer...for this torture cannot be for Daenerys’s lone benefit. 

Daenerys forces a smile, as she nods in acknowledgement of the guest who had entered the room. A mountain of white stands beside her...a similarity in colors, both woman and beast in white fur. Dany wonders if there is some symbolism Sansa’s color choices. She watches as Sansa shuffles though papers on a desk, the woman rolls them, ties them with a strap, and places them inside a leather-like pouch. Watching this lady make quick work of her task, she remains silent, willing her to leave Daenerys to her private thoughts. 

Sansa was just about to leave the room, reprieve in sight, until she turned around. “Why did you ask me about how I’d feel about a husband having more than one wife?”

Daenerys shrugs, privacy evaded for the time being. “I was curious. Many people have very _specific_ feelings on the matter. I wanted to know if such an arrangement would attract you or repulse you.”

“What about you? Targaryen bred or not, you can’t tell me that you would want to welcome another woman into your marriage...into your home.” Blue eyes on violet, both women assessing the true intentions of the other. 

“Want and would are not mutually exclusive, Sansa. I don’t have to want something personally to concede to it, but I would allow it if it meant that the one I love had what they needed. It’s like goat’s milk. I do not want to drink it, but I would gladly store it for Jon should he require it.” Daenerys provided, a smile suppressed at her lips, for the woman before her struggles with the idea of such openness. 

Shaking her head in confusion, Daenerys is sure...“No, absolutely not, a husband having a second wife is not the same as keeping a healthy supply of goat’s milk in your home...no matter how vile it may to you.”

Sighing as she gestures for Sansa to sit, both women are seated before Daenerys continues. “I know there is a difference between and odious drink and another woman. Perhaps my example was too simplistic compared to the nature of the question. I guess what I meant to say is I know that Jon loves me...that he wants me.” Dany watches as the woman before her stiffens at her words, she looks to stop, but Sansa tells her to continue. “While I could be very happy with him abstaining from taking another wife, I have found that I am aware of where I stand in my claim to his heart and I am confident of my place in his. I do not think another woman could change that, just as I do not think I could alter his feelings for another.”

“So, at any time, Jon could take a wife and you would approve it.” 

Daenerys starts to feels a bout of gastritis beginning...courtesy of her child, a sign that the babe will have a lot of hair, or so she’s has been told. Annoyed that such display would make itself known at this time slightly vexes her. She holds her hands against the places that irritate her the most. “Are you alright? Should I get one of the midwives?” Sansa’s calm, yet apprehensive voice inquires.

“No, I will be fine. There is a lot one learns when they are with child. If a woman thought her body not her own before, then pregnancy compounds that notion.” Once again Daenerys forces a smile, for she really is not actively looking to feel any type of ease with Sansa...damn those furies. 

“I guess I should answer your question. The answer is no. I would not approve any woman, and he would not think to ask, if I were to be so bold.” Dany gives Sansa her honest response, for lies and deception will only serve to hurt her in the aftermath. 

“I still do not understand. Under what condition could you ever entertain such a notion...” The crimson of Sansa’s hair making the woman seem paler than usual.

If Daenerys has any chance at having Jon to herself, should his persistence towards Sansa fail, she must not sabotage him. For the truth will be revealed at some point, and any and all steps they made towards progress will be forever destroyed. Of that she is most certain. She also knows that if the gods have made her the Sansa in this story, then she might find it improbable to forgive Jon...for how do you ask the woman you loved first to accept a second. “Its simple. As much as it pains me to admit it...” Dany finds the courage to say the thing she wished Sansa would not learn. “I am not the one he loved first.” Daenerys paused as the woman flinched as though assaulted. “There is someone very rooted in his affections. Now while I didn’t know of the existence of said person before I fell for Jon, they are currently someone I choose to share space with because I choose to be with him despite his...other.”

Sansa has a stricken expression on her face, her breaths coming in shallows beats, the woman looks away...her eyes focused on anything away from Daenerys’s location. Sansa rests a closed fist against her lips, a quiet voice asks, “Don’t you want your own family with him? A home?”

Daenerys finds that question much easier to answer than the previous one. “Yes, I do. I’ve always wanted a family. My most cherished memories where of my childhood home, with the lemon tree outside my window and a red door that led into the manse. That place meant safety and security; it is the place my mind always reverts to when I think of what home would mean. For many years my brother tried to get me to forget, to focus on our return to Westeros...but even through my efforts, until recently, my mind would always wander back to that lovely place.

“Why would your brother want you to forget?” Sansa’s voice took on a softer affect. 

“We lost it after Ser Derry died. He took care of us after my mother died and we were exiled. When he died, the servants stole whatever they could and my brother and I were put out of the only home I had ever know. Over the years I had asked my brother to tell me the exact location of the house...but he never would. He wasn’t a good man, my brother, but I think there are circumstances that a boy, barely a man, had to endure to provide for us. Acts he would never confide in me about. I consider the world too wicked to think that people provided assistance without immediate return. Not towards a young man as pretty as he...”

“Hmmmm...then for your brother everything associated with the house was corrupted. A genuine reason for him to continue in purging the place from your thoughts.” Sansa conjectures, and Daenerys can see the merit in the thought. 

“You may indeed be correct on that point. Nevertheless, I do want to build a family, and you are right in that I have begun, but the simplicity of the manse with the red door and the lemon tree...I do not foresee such easiness in my future. That path is no longer an option for too much time as passed, and I am no longer a child with a little girl’s dreams, but rather a woman with a different set of wishes.” Sansa eyes were unreadable, but Dany had a feeling Sansa could read her just fine. 

“Are they? The hope of the girl and the wishes of the woman...don’t you both want the same thing? A home...the girl looking and the woman finding.” Seeing no need to hide it, she agreed. “I suspect so.” Daenerys notices how easy it can be to tell her thoughts to Sansa, typically in the past a task she only reserved for Missandei, Tyrion, or Jon. The woman is very good at getting people to talk, even when it was never their intent to do so. She is so effortless with the skill, it’s dangerous...it makes Sansa quite perilous to her in more ways the one. 

Choosing to redirect Sansa away from prying further into parts of her she’d rather keep to herself, she is about to propose a question of her own but Sansa began to speak before she was able to address.

“We all have some youthful dream that become the forefront of our thoughts, consuming them until that is all we can see. Mine had been to be a queen. Well, not a ruling one, a consort, but a queen nevertheless. I was to marry a Crown Prince, have his heirs, and be a mother to his children...just as my mother was to me. It was an aspiration that drove me, until it became something meant to destroy me.” The woman before her seems determine to continue her thought. “Recently I had my taste of leadership, and I’ve decided that some dreams are meant to remain in that state, never to be achieved, for not all goals are good for you. It may pain one to acknowledge that, but I like to think it has spurred me on to finding a new dream...one that is more appropriate for the woman I have become...rather than expending my energies of achieving a fantasy that once belonged to a foolish little girl.”

Daenerys understands changing the course of your desires. Her life had not taken the path she envisioned, no matter how much she loved Jon and this babe nestled in her womb. At first the Khalasar would have come to Westeros to reclaim the throne for Viserys, but after the attempts on her life, and then the loss of Drogo and Rhaego, hadn’t she changed the trajectory of her goals. Hadn’t she blinded by the quest? A pursuit that wasn’t ever hers, but the determination of others.

“I can admire the need to change, though I will not find myself surprised should you change your mind. Jon has a way of bringing people together...even when the divide seems insurmountable.”

Sansa laughs, the sound begrudging, for she knows that Daenerys is correct in her declaration of Jon’s abilities. “Yes, he does have the gift of bringing opposing sides together, but I have no intentions of changing my mind.” The red-haired woman sits back, crossing one leg over the other, as she strokes her a finger over her lip, her eyes sharp as they watch Daenerys. “Though I am curious...after everything that has happened, after the truth of your actions in the South...how do you and Jon think you can move a nation towards your demands? Personally, I know nothing about _this plan_ you speak of, as I am sure the rest of the Seven Kingdoms is just as unaware. I think Pod and I are the first Westerosi, outside of Kings Landing, you have seen, and yet you have not once apologized to me for your actions...not me as Sansa, but rather as a citizen of this country you impaired.”

Daenerys freezes in surprise. She hadn’t thought she owed Sansa an apology, she hadn’t thought of her as a Westerosi, but in fact she was, and while she may not hail from the Crownlands she was of the Seven Kingdoms. In her discussions with Jon, between the fighting and disagreements on the ship, never had it occurred to her that she should attempts a verbal apology...her aim was instead to show her regret by engaging in positive actions towards the realm. 

“By the look on your face, I gather a spoken apology never crossed your mind. If you required another to tell you that you should apology for a wrong, then that I think your aim will most likely end at the summit. So, why continue, Daenerys? Why don’t you take Jon, leave, and go back to Essos?”

Daenerys sees her and Jon on this ship once again, she hears his voice, _”Whether or not I can get her to agree to an ‘us’, I do think I can get her to at least listen. I’ll leave the convincing that a new Westeros is needed, to you.”_

_“Me?”_

_“Who better? You moved me to give you my kingdom...while yes I loved you, that was not the reason. I still believed in your idea, Dany. You have built an empire of people dedicated to your cause. People who agree with your vision. Who else can speak for you...better than you?”_

Remembering Jon’s words, Daenerys pushes aside the last of her reservation and begins the arduous tasks of attempting to gain the alliance of her most recalcitrant opponent.

***

The darkness seemed bleaker considering the night should be receding as the day is to begin its shift. Today Hindya and her people are leaving...today Sansa is leaving. Part of her wanted to ask her to stay and wait for Jon...not to reunite them, no, but rather for him to hear her goodbye so that he...they, could move on. But that is a request not meant for her to ask. These days have brought an understanding between the women. Would they ever be great friends? No, not hardly. But there is a tentative armistice in place.

Daenerys leaves her rooms to find Sansa. She walks to the lift, receiving the approval from Tormund, after swearing not to throw Sansa from the wall. Standing by is the large man himself. “I got to thinking, you gave your word, but Sansa hadn’t. Better I come up with ya. You both not leaving me with explaining to Jon the comings and goings of his Ladies should one of you gets injured.” Daenerys thinks the man silly considering that in the almost fortnight that she and Sansa have lived in the same space neither of them lost their heads to warrant such a regard. However, the man has the authority to retract her request, so she yields. The journey up a long one. Dany is once again amazed by the design of such a structure. 

Once they disembarked from the contraption, they saw both Sansa and her companion walking towards them. There was a slight tension in the air until Sansa words dismissed it. “Pod, would you mind taking the bags down to the horses. I’ll be behind you. I need a moment.” The blue eyes shifted from the man to Daenerys. The man nods and begins his descent. 

“I’ll just stand over here...give ya a bit of, ugh...yeah...maybe I should have stayed below.” Tormund mumbled as he walked away from the women...close enough to see them, but far enough not to afford them a bit of privacy. 

“I know we had said our farewells last night, Sansa, but there was something about it that felt unfinished.” Daenerys didn’t really understand why she was there herself. How could she explain it to Sansa? What was she doing here? The last few days she had been able to speak with Sansa about her intentions for Westeros, for she could see that the Lady of Winterfell was beloved, that she had the command of her people’s hearts in the North, Eyrie...even some of the Iron Born. That was something Dany could not seem to garner. The people in Westeros did not, and may haps, will never love her like that. Especially in light of her recent actions. Dany wanted to know Sansa’s strategy in that regard, so she shared the plans that she and Jon formulated on the ship, in hopes that would move Sansa to disclose her confidences. Daenerys could see the change take over Sansa as her political mind provoked her to ask a lot of questions. Challenging Dany often...to a point where anger came to the forefront...only to dissipate when Sansa called her behavior into question. These confrontations did not feel familiar, very unlike the ones they had in Winterfell, but Dany still found it hard to temper her expressions. It seemed like the intent was to make Dany identify why she was angered, and how to put it aside...in order to remain composed. For that is how Sansa found success in working with her own people. The anger was never dismissed, per se, but rather...tabled until a more opportune time for release. It was a practical lesson that none of her advisor thought to offer considering the extenuating benefits. Moreover, Sansa’s as a woman from a great house...a generational Westerosi, didn’t completely dismiss the proposed plan. Instead Dany found that she offered insights on what may or may not move the remaining Houses, the blood-bonds and bad bloods, potential issues that might serve as obstacles for her and Jon. All current information Daenerys and Jon could use at a later time, should they require it. Their conversations had proved informative...fruitful...

Sansa stared at her, making Dany take notice of how the blue eyes on this woman ran through so many shades of the color, Daenerys wonder if that was something Jon loves about her? Those damn eyes that see too much. Sansa tilts her head, confusion marring her expression until the creases on her face smooth in some sort of inner resolution. “I don’t think there is much left for us to say, except...” Sansa’s voice trails off. 

“Except...” Dany prompts.

“You should marry Jon before the baby is born.” Daenerys moves back as if she had been stricken...not expecting those words to come from the woman in front of her. Her voice tired but firm, “Don’t let Jon bring a bastard into the world. Despite everything he’s a good man, and if I still know him the way I think I do, he will want to give his child a name. Tell him to pick one. Don’t let him father a bastard. I am sure it won’t be the most ideal proposal, but you are luckier than most.” Daenerys eyes watch Sansa licks at her lips, until she stops to bite her lower lip. Her voice quieter than before, eyes clear, yet the tears she never showed to Dany during their exchanges are now laced in her words. “At least he loves you, and he wants to parent your child with you. Jon will be a wonderful father and a good husband. I know this to be true because he had one of the best examples in Eddard Stark.”

Both women looked away from each other, self-composure the aim, both for different reasons. For Daenerys, marriage was an option, but she never thought much about their marital status and the impact that would have on their child. Should they consider marriage when he returns? Child aside, was she ready for that? Her heart leans in one direction, but her mind firmly undecided. For her marriages had always been a political ploy.

“I do hope some of your plans work in your favor, Daenerys. While Westeros is in need of something different, I don’t foresee you receiving a welcoming reception at the summit. It will stand against you...and Jon. It’s a true shame that events worked out the way that they had, but perhaps if they hadn’t you would not be the Daenerys standing before me today. Maybe this Daenerys, with the proper support, might still have a chance to help herald a new kind of dynasty.” Sansa looks away from her, her eyes staring out into the distance beyond the wall. In a low voice, barely above a whisper, she said “As this is probably be the last time we will ever see each other, I will take my leave, but before I do I must say... _take care of him,_ Daenerys. Jon has not had an easy life, and he is most deserving of care.”

Daenerys lets out a deep breath, the white clouds expelled and drifts away from her in the coldness of the dawn. “I am not confident that this is a final goodbye. I have a feeling our paths will converge once again Sansa Stark.” Dany knows Jon will not let this woman just walk away without seeing her again, without saying what he needs to say, of that she has learned about him. Perhaps the Jon of old would have held his tongue, but this _new Jon_...the Jon he transformed into after Kings Landing...well, that man will find Sansa to at least say his peace. Her lips twist into a bittersweet expression, for here stands a woman who thought she lost a man to Daenerys when he left to follow Dany down South, a fate Daenerys is sharing now...as the man she loves will continue to follow Sansa when he discovers she has settled up North. Deep down Dany knows this to be true, and it doesn’t concern her as much as she thought it would.

“You were once right about me. Looks like providence will give me a chance to be right about you.”_...and Jon,_ she thinks. “Until then, be well Lady Sansa.” Extending her forearm as she once had before with Yara Greyjoy, Dany looks directly at her, and waits for Sansa to accept the gesture. Sansa sighs deeply, eyeing Dany face and then her arm, a clear deliberation occurring within, until she reached out and gripped Daenerys forearm, an accord met, “Be well, Queen Daenerys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm...so what do you think?
> 
> Sansa is finally off! In her next POV chapter we will see a time jump as she has started to settle into her new home. I will try to get it posted by Wednesday.
> 
> A big "thank you" to you all for the all the ways you show your support...from comments, kudos, subscriptions, to bookmarks...it's all genuinely appreciated.


	27. Sansa VIII Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa experiences life in the Frozen Shores. Messages from those she left behind make their way to her, and the pull of the Seven Kingdoms lurks around the temporary peace she has found. An unexpected package arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised another chapter...
> 
> In this chapter we move forward a bit in time. It has been about 5 weeks since Sansa departed Castle Black.
> 
> Please keep comment constructive...if you do not know what that means, then do not comment. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Sansa has lived in the Frozen Shore settlement for a moon’s turn. The settlement is quite remote from most Free Folk tribes on the other side of the Frostfangs, yet it is closer to civilization if they travel the coast or by sea...for across from them is Bear Island and the Iron Islands beyond that. The journey here was splendidly...uneventful. After her parting words to Daenerys, Sansa made her way towards the boats with Hindya and her clan, with Ghost and Podrick following faithfully along. She tried to tell both males, human and beast, to leave her at Castle Black, but they insisted...both remaining with her until she made it to the shore. Her heart aches to think of them gone. She misses Podrick’s gift for making her less serious in her thoughts as they begin to crowd in, and the silent strength of Ghost. While knowing she did the right thing by sending them off on their respective paths, Podrick to Jayne and Ghost back to Castle Black, it doesn’t prevent the melancholy from making an appearance at times...especially when she is alone in her tent. 

Surrounded by furs, some she had brought from the North and a few that were acquired here, she tries to bury herself under the mounds of quilts. Her body producing so much heat to keep her warm, but any slight movements would allow for pocket of cooler air to reside in place, bringing a chill. Finding that perfect line of physical comfort and warmth, she allows her mind to lull for a bit longer. The physical labor is intense, more than she had ever experienced before, leaving her relatively exhausted at night. Thoughts of Jon rarely have time to plague her for that same reason, or so she tells herself. By now he knows she has left Winterfell...in fact, she had received a letter...three letters since her arrival, but the first which she received about three weeks ago, was from Bran regarding Jon’s return to their childhood home. Sansa knows Jon is aware that she had gone North, but Bran had reassured her that he had not divulged her plan to go beyond the wall, her desire to seek sanctuary with the Frozen Shore Clan. Bran also noted that he anticipated a much-needed balm was headed her way, and to take much care of it as the recent past has changed it so. Ever so cryptic, Sansa while a great appreciator of diplomacy, wonders if Bran will ever just say what he means. 

The second letter she had received came from Meera Reed. It seems as though Bran had taken her advice and managed to get the young woman to stay with him...as the new Lady of Winterfell. She cried joyful tears when she read the news. Not expecting to read such words so soon, she was caught off guard and unprepared, her outburst startled a few of the Free Folk around her. Hindya demanded she tell her the news. Sansa just laughed through her tears, “My brother is getting married. Bran...he is getting married.” Hindya’s worrisome brow lifted in understanding, the older woman murmuring, _"Hmmm...and the Starks still prevail..."_, she left Sansa with a small smile to her delighted thoughts and good news. It has been about a fortnight since she received both letters. 

The third letter arrived from Lord Manderly, a sennight ago. The missive contained three parts. Each requiring a responsible response from her. The first was his offer to welcome her, indefinitely, into his household, for his granddaughters pestered him daily about Lady Stark’s wellbeing. The Lord made it clear that the Manderly’s would be proactive in keeping any and all Stark’s safe, for they would not fail in this task as they had failed before. He wanted her to know that she would always be welcome in White Harbor in perpetuity. 

On the next account he was curious as to the Free Folk’s decision on his offer. Sansa has an impression that the continued assistance of ferrying other Free Folk who live north of the Frozen Shore, decreasing their own travel time, has been a bit of a quiet successful move on Manderly’s part. Inspired, truly. The small bouts of additional aid, such as bags of grain, have been a blessing as such an ingredient can be used to keep bellies full, when finding meat is at a low. Sansa was approached by Hindya yesterday regarding the matter. She has asked Sansa to sit in her council meeting scheduled that evening. 

The final thoughts in his missive has been the hardest for Sansa to address. _Lord Tyrion has sent ravens all about Westeros, claiming that Kings Landing has been taken by the Targaryen Queen, and then removed from her by Jon Targaryen. Is it really true? Jon Snow is not Eddard Stark’s son, but that of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark._ Reading the words she knew to be genuine, words she had once swore never to reveal, made for small pockets of embarrassment to dwell. In her hand, in print, she can see her dishonor reflected back at her. _There is to be a summit to discuss the future of the Seven Kingdoms. It will be there that we shall hear the terms of their reign. _ Their reign...can you believe it. _ I must admit my shame Lady Sansa, for I swore that I would never forsake House Stark again, but I fear what this summit sincerely means. I declared my House to follow Jon Snow...but I knew him then to be a Stark, if not in name then in blood. Experience has shown me that Targaryens breed true, and their madness takes different forms. In Aerys it was brutality and torture, and with his son it was selfishness and want...both men brought fire and blood to us, all because their madness hid the sense of duty they owed to the realm. It is with a heavy heart that I dread what will become of Jon, now that he calls himself a Targaryen._ Sansa wonders who made the choice to name Jon a Targaryen, for she doubts the man would have chosen it himself. A calculated move on Tyrion’s end, she surmises.

_ “I do not know if I should attend, but I cannot in conscious send anyone else in my stead. I do not know what ignoring the call will bring to my people, not after hearing the accounts of what befell Kings Landing. The tides have changed within the kingdom on unprecedented heights, levels we have not experienced within our lifetime. Dragons have returned to the realm of man, both symbolically and literally. I do not think our country can stand against such power, even though we would want to. Seeing you in Winterfell, you held yourself apart from the demands of the Targaryen, I sit and consider what you would have moved House Stark to do. While I know Ned Stark’s son holds your family seat, and you have convinced me of his ability to lead the North well, I do question whether you would have agreed to the request to attend the summit should you have remained the head of your House. Would you concede to their terms?”_

Here lies the heart of Sansa’s difficulties with this correspondence. She does not blame any Lord or Lady for not attending the meeting. Lack of attendance is a message in itself. One she warned Daenerys she should expect to receive. If things were different, if she had remained the Stark in Winterfell...Sansa knows that she would not have attended nor would she have sent an envoy in her place. No matter how she felt about Jon, the words of the recently deceased Lyanna Mormont would have guided her decision, for the North knows no King, but the King in the North, whose name is Stark. Sansa’s absence would have been public knowledge, her decision swaying the Lords of the North, her message very clear. Her decision for the North would have had her reaching out to Jon...for in the past she knows she challenging his decisions about the North, but she wouldn’t act against them. Current betrayal aside, he would not have expected that from her. Therefore, she would like to think she would have warned him. 

Should she tell Manderly of her would-be intent, if she had remained the Stark in residence. Sansa knows that to do so would undermine Brandon. It would serve to undo all the work she had done, so that she could leave the politics of her homeland. Sansa is aware that her brother’s...talents...allow him to see the far-reaching effects of this summit way beyond her own abilities. Knowing this does she tell Manderly to reach out to Bran, to ask his liege lord for direction on this matter. There is also information she contains from Daenerys herself, these grand plans to usher the Seven Kingdoms into a more peaceful and prosperous age. Looking at the proposal through an objective lens, Daenerys and Jon have some valid ideas that could help the realm...such as improving shared laws and establishing common consequences. Having better social programs, provided for by the realm and not from the Order of the Seven, programs that help the poorest citizens find work...to learn a trade, regardless of their faith. But even with that knowledge, would it still move her towards their cause...sadly, she does not think it would...but she questions if it is her duty to sway another whose people could benefit from these initiatives, and knowing how many Northerners are struggling, would she be correct in her initial judgement not to attend. Then she remembers what happened in Kings Landing and she does not think she could have enough trust to listen...let alone agree to any point in their proposal. She is also aware of how much of these feelings are tied to her feelings about Jon and Daenerys as lovers. Sighing out in frustration for being no closer to finding peace with one answer, she decides to begin her day for it is a long one, for she has been tasked with repairing clothes and tent coverings, while committed to teaching the younger children how to work a stitch. 

The light from the early morning sun illuminates the snow blanketed under her feet. She passes the shelters of several unmarried women who lost family during the Long Night, but who wanted to return home. It seems they all share the desire for privacy, while acknowledging support in numbers. As Hindya told her when she suggest that Sansa reside in this section of the camp, “It’s nice to have like women around. You have the space to share your furs for a night, but then you have a _pack of sorts_ to support ya, should he be thinking of having more than just the night.” The older woman’s smirk, made Sansa feel a little bit uncomfortable. The only man she ever envisioned in her bed now belonged to another...though it doesn’t stop her subconscious from working against her rational self. 

Making her way toward the large hall where she can break her morning fast, the cold bites at her nose as the wind touches her face, ensuring that she walks faster to find some warmth. The room is not empty, but that is not unexpected. The people here are early risers, they work while the sun is up bringing some heated protection against the bitter temperatures, but they seek the warmth of a shelter when the night appears...for it is too cold to remain outside after dark. Gathering a bowl, she pours herself helping of porridge, and settles next to one of the women who lives beside her. “Morning Sansa. You’re up early?" 

“Morning to you Talah. I hope you are prepared for a busy day. A lot of new pieces were collected from the abandoned dwellings just beyond here, there are a lot of repairs to be made on the textiles before they can be reapplied to the old lodgings. Some of the damage is extensive. I might have to take some of them a part.” Sansa grimaces at the idea. She enjoys feeling useful, but there is plenty of work to be done. She is grateful that she is in good company, for Talah has been a wonderful mentor for her, the woman well versed in using more unusual skins...like walrus and seal. 

“I heard a rumor that a ship is due to arrive.” Her companion wiped her mouth with her right hand, not removing food, the woman seemed a tad distracted. “Why do you think they are coming back? I thought you said they would return in a fortnight. 

Sansa was surprised to hear such news. “I have no idea. When I spoke with the captain he was clear in his intent to return in a fortnights time.” 

Talah grunts and shrugs away the conversation leaving Sansa confused. Both women finish their meals. They keep a companionable silence as they walked past residents as they ambled towards the sewing hut. The heat from a small fire keeping the quarters warm, Sansa sits at her station and begins tackling the task of assessing how to repair this particular tapestry, for the jagged slices torn through make this restoration a challenge. 

The quest at hand has taken a lot of Sansa’s concentration, the young charges at her feet consume the rest. Just as she facilitated Tormund’s education, she does the same for the children in the hut. A worthy skill, that can transfer from creating a thing of beauty, to creating shelter, to helping save one’s life...she laughs to herself. Her septa would have died twice over if she knew how Sansa used her ‘precious’ skill now. The day passes with very little thought of the workings outside of the hut. A cold draft enters the space, calling everyone’s attention to the person who entered the room. A large dark-haired man with a craggily face, known to be Hindya’s _Hand_...if the Free Folk had such a position, gestures in greeting towards the current occupants. “Sansa, a ship has returned. Looks like they left a parcel for you, transported a gift from Winterfell." 

Though she had heard the rumor that a ship was to arrive, she had not put forth more effort of thought in regards to it. But now that it is here and that something came from Winterfell, she felt a silver of excitement flow through her. Perhaps it was another letter from Bran or news from Podrick and Jayne. That warm feeling is what drew her near the berth where the ship was sure to be. Her steps confident and certain...until another idea cast a wide shadow over her elation. A parcel...if it is Bran providing the message then it could have another meaning. Jon had been in Winterfell, while her brother may have promised not to tell Jon about her final destination, she is well aware of how a person can change their minds when faced with an alternative choice they deem better. Maybe Bran had foreseen something she could not, and it had converted his commitment. Could it be Jon? Could he have come by way of boat? Her steps falter just as she arrives to the harbor. Her heart racing, she prayed it wasn’t so for his face was not one she expected to see...no matter if Bran and Daenerys both warned her of it. She was not ready for that...not for him, for there is easy in resisting the man when he is not near. 

Sansa sees the _‘gift’_ that has been delivered. Her feet move slowly towards the dock, but they do not move because she commands it so. There before her stands an apparition, a piece of what remains of her previous life, the life she walked away from. They stand before each other, Stark grey meeting Tully blue, the world stands still for just one moment...each breath that separates them from sharing the same breath, each exhalation sounding hoarse to her own ears. Then in an instant, the word re-engages like an arrow released from an archer’s fingers her bundle launched into the arms. As the taller of the two, Sansa grips the body that crashed into her tightly. She doesn’t know how long she has been holding, her grip desperate, but she can’t seem to let herself let go. Her face wet with the tears she does not remember weeping, she carefully pulls her torso back, her hands reaching to grasp the face of someone she had hoped to see, but thought might never return. As her eyes absorb the changes to the face before her, she rest her forehead against the person’s, a watery smile graces her lips, as she whispers.

_“Ayra...”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you think Sansa will reply to Manderly regarding his attendance at the summit?
> 
> So, did you guess what the gift was? Who did you think she was seeing when she arrived at the dock?
> 
> Thank you for all the support...especially during the highs and lows of the story when you just don't agree with your favorite character's progression. Your signs of affection are noted!
> 
> Until the next chapter...


	28. Sansa VIII Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Arya reconnect. Sansa shares her concerns about Jon and the trajectory she has set herself on. Arya voices her feelings about the true nature of her siblings relationship. She also expresses her thought on Jon, Daenerys, and the events in the South.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so glad to finally bring Arya back. Seems I wasn't the only one happy to see it. I thought the sister had a horrible reunion. So I wrote what I wanted to see. 
> 
> As you can see I've posted again this week. I feel like I just need Sansa's POV to move on. I will try to post more than 2 times a week, even if that means I might have to take a short break to complete the remaining chapters. It doesn't seem much when I look at my outline, but ugh I have a love/hate relationship with writing...lol. When I began his writing this story, I truly thought I would be done in like 12-15 chapters...BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Shall we all laugh together. 
> 
> While I agree with you T...it does feel like its dragging...I know I feel that way and I am writing it, I think if I change this approach too much, then the story will seem noticeably rushed...and it really is two stories in one. So I will try to cut corners where I can. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing!!!!

It seemed like a long time had passed before the sisters pulled away from each other. Arya lifted a large rucksack over her shoulder as she follows Sansa through the small huts that creates the living quarters in the settlement. Many people walking about, all staring at the woman walking beside Sansa. Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa sees Hindya stepping out of her home. Sansa acknowledges the older woman, gesturing for Arya to follow her. “Hindya, I’d like to introduce my sister, Arya Stark.”

The dark-haired woman mouth curved in a smirk, “I know who this is...the Bringer of the Dawn, we all know the woman who killed the Night King. Welcome to Frozen Shore, Arya Stark.”

Arya nods, embarrassed by the designation Sansa is sure, deflection second nature, she says, “Thank you for taking care of my sister.”

Hindya lowers her head, tilting it to the side, “She holds her own for what she can do, and what she can’t do...she barters...for it is our way.”

Arya nods, a smirk gracing lips, “Dare I ask, what can my sister do? Are you in need of a political strategist? A steward? Or a Lady...for she’s excels in those areas. 

Sansa nudges her sister, she expected feelings of hurt to resurface as they had before when Arya belittled her abilities...but they had not, for if her sister harbored ill will towards her then she would not have traveled from Kings Landing to the Frozen Shores. Therefore, she believes that these words _must_ be said in jest.

“Actually your sister’s skill with a needle has been quite invaluable.” Hindya replies, her voice as serious as her face.

Sansa has to suppress the laughter that bubbles forth at the expression on her sister’s face. 

“You’re serious?” She ask Hindya, disbelief intertwined with each word. “Yes.” The older woman clearly confused by Arya’s reaction. Arya turns to Sansa, the younger woman’s voice still lit with incredulity, “She’s serious.” Sansa can’t keep her merriment contained and she releases her laughter at Arya’s expense. “By the Gods...” she hears her sister whisper which release another bout of cackling which leaves Hindya appearing perplexed and Arya grimacing.

***

Sansa stops before the entry way to her dwelling, “It’s a far cry from Winterfell, but it’s mine...it’s a home.” Taking a reassuring breath, she pulls the furs to her entrance aside allowing Arya access. Her eyes observe all, Sansa noticed, thinking that both sisters had the ability to see what others merely ignore, one seemed born with the natural gift while the other’s aptitude was hard learned. “Clever idea to have another fur curtain the doorway after you enter the space. I bet it keeps the heat inside when new people stop by.”

Sansa smiles softly at her sister, a familiar awkwardness beginning to alter the energy between the women. Searching for a way to avoid addressing the strained mood now in the room, Sansa works on building a fire, for if they are going to discuss difficult topics they might as well be comfortable. Once the fire has shown signs of remaining true, she turns to Arya...her sister was staring at her with that unreadable expression.

“Would you like some ale? Seems like it was one of the few things the dead left alone.” Sansa poured 2 cups, not waiting for Arya’s response. She also placed some bread and dried meat on a plate as well...not sure of when her sister might have last eaten.

Sansa watched as her sister took a hearty drink of the ale, a sputter followed. “Bloody hell, this is awful.” Sansa quietly chuckled, thinking of her own experience with imbibing strong ale. “It could be worse.”

“What is worse than this?” Arya laughed, as she proceeded to take another sip, cautioned this time.

“Have you tried the ale at Castle Black...” Both women grimaced, Sansa wonders if it’s for the same reason. Perhaps her sister has already tried it, for Arya would have gone to see Jon first before coming to see her, so she would have sample such. 

“Hmmmm...haven’t had the pleasure.” The shorter woman mumbles around the bite of bread currently taking residence in her mouth. This declaration surprising Sansa. 

“You’ve not gone to the Wall, but Jon is there.” Sansa questions, her voice sounded guarded...even to herself. A clear alert to her sister that something was amiss. 

Arya looked up from her plate, she placed it carefully on the floor, hands clasped between her legs, her voice so quiet and reasonable. “I know. I also know Daenerys is there, and neither is a person I want to see right now...for I might be liable to stick a blade in the place where her heart is supposed to be.”

Sansa was not sure what to expect from Arya, but it had not been that. Looking at her sister, shadows from the fire dancing across her face, some shadows it seems Arya brought with her. Sansa was not going to pretend that the events in the south had not impacted her sister, the moments Bran shared with her were horrifying and they had been filtered by Bran in his dry unattached way. Clearly her siblings experienced the same moment, but felt it differently, impacting them contrarily. 

Not sure how to approach her sister, does she suppress her own feelings or commiserate with Arya. She does not want to lead the other woman, clearly she has strong feelings about this matter. Edging towards caution, “I imagine you are not the only one. What happened Arya?”

The women were silent, the voices of children could be heard outside, much like they must have sounded like when they remembered how to be children...those days long gone and lost to them. “When I arrived, Cersei had ordered the residents of Kings Landing to enter the inner courtyard of the Red Keep. I almost hadn’t made it.” Arya’s voice toneless, Sansa sensing her sister was reliving the incidents in question. “My focus was reaching Cersei in the castle, but the Lannister army was starting to close the gates. I made it through by the grace of this woman...a mother with her daughter.”

Her sister returned to silence. “Did they survive?” Sansa asked in hoping to push Arya away from the distant expression on her face. “After her second attempt to save me...I tried to...” Arya’s voice quieted. “No. They didn’t.” Sansa watched her sister consume the rest of the ale in her cup. Thinking her sister needed it more than she did, Sansa passed her cup of into Arya’s hands. The younger woman nodded her thanks. “At first the level of fear and chaos seemed appropriate. I mean seeing a dragon overhead would strike terror in most. Daenerys kept to burning where the scorpions were...the same kind of weapon which was used to kill Rhaegal. My understanding afterwards, was that once the gates were destroyed, Daenerys’s army would enter the city. Before any bloodletting could occur, the city surrendered. I could hear the people yelling for the keeper of the bell tower to ring the bell, and they did.”

Sansa closed her eyes, she imagines Drogon dragon fire crumbling the city walls, the armies...both Daenerys’s and Jon’s entering the city, the cries echoing a call to ring the bells. 

“Then the fear and terror escalated, and all you could hear were people screaming, the sounds of buildings collapsing with residents shouting for help as they were trapped by the fire that consumed their homes. So many people running blindly with no clear path of escape. She set a course to burn the city. Her men, and many of our men...they attacked those who surrendered and civilians. They murdered as many as their blades could fine and they raped without thought to the ending of the world around them. Daenerys Targaryen dismantled a city with fire and blood, and those who fought for her they destroyed a people...all on her orders.” Arya’s listless voice causes Sansa to open her eyes once again. Her brain unable to truly comprehend the violence her sister had witness. “I know these were the same people who mocked father, who reveled in his death, the very same people I wished the Stranger upon...but I never imagined that, Sansa. The worst part of it all were the children. Their eyes seized with that kind of fright that holds on to you so tightly that you can’t bring yourself to move...to think, to breathe. Watching them...it just took me back to the day my own world ended.”

Tears appear in Arya’s eyes, the younger woman brushing them away. “Once she had conquered the city, I was able to find Jon. It seems we were both drawn to finding her.” Arya rolls her eyes at the same time she released a deep sigh. “She gave a speech where the steps to the Red Keep once stood. It did not take a master of language to decipher what she spoke of...or rather who she spoke of. She wanted to take each part of the realm, and she was ready to take it just as she has appropriated the Capital. My heart frozen when she said Winterfell.” The sister’s looked at each other. 

Arya carried her dishes to a small table, Sansa left her sister to her thoughts, feeling that space was needed in the moment but wondering if Arya could ever have enough space to quell the violent images that must plague her. Her sister feeling less detached and more vulnerable than she remembered her to be from just a couple of moons ago. Arya stares at the plate that moments ago had been in her hand. “Afterwards we all sought shelter beyond what remained of the wall to the city, all those Northerners who survived...with or without their honor intact, it was there that Jon told us of his aim to stop Daenerys from continuing this path she seemed so intent on following. I...we...followed his lead, but looking back Sansa...seeing what lingered, seeing Bran afterwards, I am not sure if ensuring her survival was worth it.”

Arya’s words make Sansa think of their brother. Perhaps she will share what it was like to experience the horror from Winterfell...should her sister ever ask. Then she wonders if Ayra knows of Daenerys condition, she breaks the news to her sister. “Daenerys is with child.” The dark-haired woman’s head whipped in Sansa’s direction.

_“She will be the mother of my brother’s child? Why didn’t he tell me?_ Arya voice increasing in volume to yell at a man who wasn’t even there. 

“My understanding is limited, but as I know it, he hadn’t known until shortly after...at least that is the impression Bran gave me before I left. Perhaps he thought that knowledge would lessen the impact of the news.” Needing space of her own, Sansa begins to poke at the fire, some spots showing signs of dying. “Maybe he just didn’t have time. It seems like everything moved so quickly. I don’t know...” her voice trails off, not sure what to say to her sister on this point.

“You know I am not one of Jon’s bannermen. There is no need for you to make excuses for him as you once did. As the Lady of Winterfell, it was your duty...for he was our king, but now...you owe him no such fealty, Sansa.” Looking back to her younger sibling, Sansa wonders what Arya would truly say if she was aware of how Sansa truly felt about Jon. Turning away, she wondered, would Arya still remain if she knew Sansa’s truth. Sansa rises. “It’s been a long journey for you. Would you like to rest? I can get you some more food, if you’re still hungry. I had plans to try and hunt some smaller game, I could leave you here...”

“What? Hunt? Who are you? And what have you done to my sister...Sansa Stark.” Arya’s large eyes seemed even larger than before. Confusion and skepticism shining through. 

Sansa laughs quietly to herself, for she scarcely recognized herself at times. “You mocked me about my needlepoint skills, yet it seems like they have become quite helpful in this new life. Ever thought that your own natural gifts were enhanced by such task...tsk, tsk, tsk.”

Arya sends her a doubtful expression. “Well I’d rather see your hand at hunting truth be told.” Sansa stopped her progression to get her quiver, when Arya touched her extended arm. “I meant what is I said, Sansa, you don’t owe Jon anything. Whatever debt you feel you owe him, consider it paid in full.”

Sansa can see her sister’s eyes assessing and judging her every expression. Lowering her eyes to hide the truth from the other woman, she continues to collect her things. “It’s complicated, Arya. My feelings for Jon are hard to filter through. We have a past that is specific to just us...I can’t easily close off that side of me. You have your own history with him, at times does it not alter your common sense. Are you able to separate what you feel from what you should do?”

Expecting her sister to be obstinate, her unexpected soft voice stalled her movements. “Aye, Jon and I do have a strong bond...to be honest it was everything to be as a child...even throughout the years I was detached from you all, I thought of him. I love my brother, Sansa, but find that I do not love all that he loves.”

“He loves her, so you will have to adapt yourself.” Sansa retorts. The younger woman rolls her eyes as she adjust her clothing to prepare her departure of Sansa’s space. Sansa make quick task of banking the fire, she gestures for her sister to exit. 

With a wolfish grin aimed at Sansa, the taller woman pauses...her ears disbelieving. “Perhaps there is a shred of accuracy in that, sister dear, for I know he loves you...and I am working on accepting that too.”

***

Along with Arya’s arrival, the ship transported with another letter. This time the letter was from Daenerys herself. She had not anticipated correspondence, but she wasn’t angered by it arrival either. The contents of the letter contained very little, except for a question regarding her thoughts on how best to establish alliances with the Vale. The blonde woman clearly intent of salvaging the restoration of the Seven Kingdom, even if she may not be allowed to remain on the continent to witness it. 

Since receiving this note, Sansa knew she could not postpone her replies any longer. This recent correspondence has returned her back to Lord Manderly’s concerns. Does she get involved? After further reflection...and private conversations with Arya, Sansa know what she could correspond in good conscious. The answer would hold true for both parties. Sitting down at her table with a candle, parchment and a quill, she begins the difficult tasks of explaining how to settle their concerns. To Manderly, she acknowledges his fears as credible, but encourages him to consider the possibility of listening if Jon and Daenerys agree to meet the terms he has determined, are essential for moving him to attend the summit. She notes it as a goodwill gesture of sorts. As for Daenerys, she writes to remind her that no one is beholden to meet her, but if the woman chooses to reach out to any House, then should be prepared to meet any terms others may set for the parley, if she can. It sends a message that she is serious in her attempts to establish a rapport. If she can’t, then know that your gesture to secure a union will most likely be ignored...all efforts deceased before she ever had a chance to utter her first words.

In either matter declared in each letter, Sansa found she had found peace in her words as she concludes her thoughts by signing her name. Sealing them shut, she prepares the letters to depart on the next ship, hoping they are not received as _ ‘dark wing, dark words’_ to their recipients .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always open to hearing constructive thoughts...
> 
> The support is sincerely appreciated.
> 
> The next two chapters are only single parts....so only 2 more this J & D are reunited...sorta. lol


	29. Jon VIIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon returns to Castle Black in search of Sansa. Strong words are had between Jon and Tormund. Daenerys shares ideas that have impacted her and her fears, both political and personal. They discuss Sansa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Suffer with me as we go back in time. Rewind to about 14 days after Sansa’s departure. That would be about the time it would take for Jon to make it back to Castle Black. At this point Sansa has been at the Frozen Shore settlement for approximately a week now, perhaps a couple of days beyond that. Jon’s and Daenerys’s chapters will move forward so that all three POV timelines converge where Sansa is in her last chapter.**
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing...

Jon hears the horns before he sees Castle Black’s gate open. He doesn’t stop his horse, the pounding pace his companion for most of his return trip to the Wall. Barely clearing the horse past the gate, Jon hardly waits for his steed to stop before he jumps off. His arrival sparked alarm in the people milling about the courtyard. He doesn’t spare a thought for them; his eyes are focused on finding one person _kissed by fire_, but what he finds is the redhead he wasn’t searching for. By the looks of his friend’s grim expression, Jon know that his absence has forced Tormund limits perhaps beyond the bond of friendship.

Following Tormund’s gesture, he follows the big man towards the lift, once they entered Jon started but before he could utter a word Tormund spoke first, “Not one fuckin word, Snow. Not one fuckin word...not down here.” The big man looked away as they ascended to the top of the wall. Jon was vibrating, it was taking all his inner fortitude not to grab Tormund by the collar and slam his against the wall. The contraption shuttered to a stop, the men exiting. Jon following Tormund away from the scouts stationed by the lift. 

No time for a preamble, “Where is she?” Tormund eyes pin him down, grunting a response. “Which “she” Snow?”

“Don’t, dammit. Where is Sansa?” The moment Brandon told Jon of Sansa’s whereabouts; his initial thoughts went to shock. He never would have thought she would return there, but then he never thought she would have left Winterfell. Once his surprise began to recede he realized that Sansa and Daenerys were both at Castle Black. The worst possible outcome for all in his opinion. Fearing what he expected to find once he arrived, he did not postpone his departure and tried to make up as much time as he could.

Tormund continued to stare at him, the silence deafening, until he broke it with a long sigh. “She’s gone Jon. Sansa arrived the day you departed for Winterfell. She remained for almost a fortnight, and left with Hindya’s clan.”

Jon took a step back, shock punching him in the gut, his face flinching. Beyond the Wall. He made her see the barrenness of the Free Folk domain as a better option than Winterfell...than staying in the home she fought for. “To the Frozen Shore...bloody hell, man. Why would you let her go?” Jon roared, taking out his frustration towards himself out on this friend. 

Tormund moved into Jon’s space, noses a breath a part, “Who was I to make her stay? She’s a damn woman grown. Sansa made her plans. She knew what she wanted and how to get it.” The men breathing hard. “I don’t blame her you know. You should have seen her face, Jon. Her fucking face when she laid her eyes on Daenerys. Broke my damn heart, man. Though Daenerys didn’t look any better. Of the two of ya, Red would rather spend ten days with Daenerys, than have me ride out to find your ass. It was only a matter of time before you figured she wasn’t at Winterfell, so I understand why she wouldn’t lengthen her time here...and frankly so should you.”

***

The sky turned shades of blue to hues of purple settling into a grey, dusk blanketing the sky. Jon could hear the gentle even steps, arms wound their way around his waist, a rounded figure behind him, a face pressed into his back. Before he heard Daenerys’s voice, he knew it was her, and though he missed her...she was not who he wanted to see right this minute. These are thought that make him a bastard. He knows they would be hurtful to her, so he doesn’t say them aloud for he doesn’t mean them with an intent to bring her pain, but that would be the result regardless. Unfortunately, every day he is away from Sansa the farther away she seems to be...not only physically, but emotionally.

“I happen to see your arrival this afternoon. You came up with Tormund, but only one of you returned below. I thought to give you some time. I’m sure the news you received wasn’t what you were hoping for, but I had hoped you would have made it down to see me by now.” 

Jon takes Dany’s hand into his own, he looks and her long slim fingers, similar to his own, where hers are small and soft, his are large and riddled in callouses. “I needed some time. For I am pleased to see you...” He turns his head, their eyes meeting behind his back, “I’ve missed you, truly, but I needed more time to make myself presentable. My current state may not be fair to you. I carry with me more fault for my behaviors than I saw then I left you.”

Daenerys moves away from his back, to stand at his side, her arms wrapped about his. “I’m afraid I am to blame for a fair amount of it.” Her voice trails off. Jon silence his agreement with part of her appraisal. “There is plenty of responsibility that is solely my own.” Jon doesn’t want to discuss what awaited him in Winterfell, he doesn’t want to talk about Sansa...not with her, there will be a time to have that conversation, but not in this very moment. He looks Beyond the Wall; the outlines of the trees is all that can be seen as it gets darker. She is out there. The thought that Sansa felt the need to find sanctuary angers him...the resentment resting with himself. She insisted on going where the White Walkers and wights once reigned, and thought that as a better alternative than remaining safe and at home. She is running from him, and where she sees planning he sees the potential for recklessness. The True North is nothing one could imagine unless they’ve been. Sansa could get hurt, she is unskilled with a blade...Arya she is not...an Ygritte, no. She is running from him as she ran from Ramsey. All he could see during his ride from Winterfell to the Wall, was she left Winterfell a place where she should have felt save, to the unknown in order to escape from being in his presence. 

Jon knows he is not sadistic like Ramsey, he is not that type of man, but he did take away her sense of safety...just like that Bolton bastard. In that way they are alike. For every day that passes, Jon finds that his sense of honor is further away from him. He can be a truly stupid man, especially in matters where Sansa is concerned. As Jon stares Beyond the Wall, he wonders if it’s not too late fall all three of them to just run away from it all. To leave the Seven Kingdoms to themselves...could he, could they.

***

Sleep evaded him as it had since his arrival at this Winterfell. Between the heat from the fire, the furs, and Daenerys sleeping body wrapped around his own, Jon felt stifled and hot. Both attributes making sleep unobtainable. Though in all honesty, he could have been outside and he fears the outcome to be the same. Jon cannot make his mind stop. All he does is rewind the collection of his stupidities, and he sees all the things he could have done differently. With the current bloodshed at bay, winter still due to arrive, and a summit to attend to. Jon feels as though he has planned the best proposal to make an effort at recompense towards the country, but he has not done anything to make amends towards his family. Jon left Arya with clear instructions to act in his place, but that came at a cost to her...when he knew she did not want to take another face. How does Jon give Bran back his sight? He learned about the finer points of the ritual from Sam. Mere words of apology cannot correct the scars his brother will have to bear the rest of his days. Scars added to Sansa as well. He really was no better than Ramsey, perhaps worse, because his plan caused her to choose...cut yourself and your brother may live, don’t and he may die. The shame threatens to consume him. Unable to breath because of the pressures crushing his chest, he untangles himself from Daenerys grasp, grabbing his boots and cloak, he leave the room.

Jon isn’t aware of how long he remained seated on the steps; it wasn’t until Dany came to sit beside him that he realized the Keep was bustling with activity. “They are an interesting people, your Free Folk. They remind me a little of the Dothraki, perhaps a little bit sedate of the two.” Jon laughs into himself at the thought of two groups of people, that most consider savages, as anything remotely close to sedate. “Aye. I think it’s the cold. Your Dothraki seemed a bit demurer themselves as we marched North...less free, the colder it became. Perhaps that what cold, snow, and ice will breed. An adaptation for survival, remember words once spoken _ “...the only difference between you and us, is we were on this side when the wall went up.”_ It a human trait, I believe...through and through. If you want to survive you must adapt...as your Dothraki had, as we must in the days ahead.”

Daenerys looks at Jon, his attention taken by the people below their viewpoint, “I had the chance to speak with some of the Free Folk during your absence. I am noticing a pattern from my time in Essos to my time here, and I can see that there is good in some of the traditions already established by each group of people I’ve encountered. It is those elements I do not wish people to lose. Those parts of them that make them unique, the richness of them as a society.” Jon listens intently at what she says, but more so for what she does not say. 

The young woman rest her head on his shoulder, her hands reaching for his. Jon waits for her to speak, but she says nothing more. Not wanting to speak for her, but wishing to progress in this conversation, Jon voices the silent words she does not. “There are some bad elements as well. Some so ingrained into the identity of these people, that it may be impossible to separate the two. So, what does one do? How much of it can you dismiss? If you are asking my opinion, then I think there is a sliding scale of consequences that accompanies the actions.” Daenerys pulls away a bit, her eyes searching his, “It’s that gray area Jon that creates a space for abuses. Right is right and wrong is wrong. The penalties should be the same regardless and executed as such.”

Jon looks away from Daenerys, huffs out a scoff of dismay, he turns his head back to her. “Then my Queen, when would you like to set the date of your own execution.” Dany attempts to pulls completely away, Jon holds on to her hand, preventing her from a full escape. “You cannot sit here Dany, after everything that has happened, and tell me that there is no room for finding less...finite extremes of consequences. To allow people to have a chance for true penitence. It is harder to find mercy for those who have wronged us, when our natural instinct is to do the opposite. Have you learned nothing? Is all this...” he gestures with his hand, “...for naught?”

They remain seated in uncomfortable silence. Jon not apologetic for upsetting her so. As he once tried to explain to Sansa and his family, albeit not well, that we cannot just keep to the people we know. That we don’t open ourselves to getting to know others. If we don’t learn about people different from ourselves, then how does our sense of understanding evolve...how does mercy grow, for such a trait requires a person to see beyond their immediate self. 

“What do you propose?” Dany’s voice faint, yet formal, to his own ears. He considers his words, “There needs to be a set of common laws, the people should decide those. No man or woman should find themselves judged without trial. The penalties for breaking them...perhaps each case is judged on its merits, and the extenuating circumstances that accompany it.” Jon recalls when Ned Stark beheaded Will, the Night’s Watch deserter. _If the man had been granted a trial; a chance to declare his reasons for leaving, then may haps they would have learned about the White Walkers sooner._ “There should be alternative penalties that don’t always end in death or eternal banishment and military servitude. I am not saying they could not be options, but they have always seemed to be the first choice. Perhaps we consider extended service to make restitution to the wronged. I see no justice in offering a raper the same punishment as a hungry child who stole a loaf of bread. Do you?” 

“No, but by your own words, why would the Seven Kingdoms accept me. I would be the raper in your example, would I not?” Her voice devoid of feeling, very quiet, introspective. 

Returning home just brought sight and clarity to his own deficits. The consequences harder to rationalize when the beneficiary of your theories are carried by those you love...Bran, Arya, Sam...Sansa. As they harbor the scars, he finds it harder to explain his and Daenerys actions. He cannot ignore that people are living with a mark forever on their souls, and there are consequences for that. All that can be done for it is to accept your part, and avoid compounding it. 

“Yes, you would, but even death is too good for a raper. For they have earned spending their life living with the label of their actions, and treated as such, when the chance of forgiveness will most likely never materialize, and you choose to try and find dignity it a world that will never let you forget. That is the true consequence. Do you think you are strong enough to bare such judgement for it is part of the initiative towards making amends?”

Violet eyes stare into his own, apprehension present, in a discreet voice she murmurs, “I do not know. I like to think I am made of thicker skin, but I have a feeling I am not.”

Jon nods. He understand well what it means to live with a title thrusted upon you. In his case, the label was not of his own making...bastard...yes that was what he was, or so he thought. He knows he is deserving of a new title, and Dany’s title will be hard won by her. Regardless both designations will bring about wounds dedicated solely to them. “Unless you decide to leave now, only time will tell, will it not.”

Jon waits for her response. Not sure if she will take the out he is offering her. Hoping...trusting that she won’t. Jon can see Dany thinking, a myriad of expressions flash across her face. “Yes, yes it will.”

The tension that was there before has subsided as they continue to sit there in quiet contemplation.

***

That night was warmer than the night before, and Daenerys suggested using the bathing huts, an ingenious idea he wished existed during his time in the Night’s Watch. Jon learned from Tormund that the introductions of these kinds of baths came from Sansa. She thought why not use what we have an abundance of...water and trees. The rationale made me smile. Sansa always did like to remain tidy, he though fondly. Jon spied Dany sitting by the fire, as she detangled her long and wet hair. Seeing the woman in a battle with her own locks, Jon took the comb from her hand and began to detangle her hair. “You are awfully good at his Jon.” Her voice playful, yet cautious. “I have had some experience with combing long hair.” He responds, wondering if she’ll ends this particular conversation at this point. “Hmmmmm...” Seems like Daenerys isn’t looking to press this issue. Her hair while different in color, feels so different in texture from Sansa’s...soft curls versus thick length. While Jon was grateful to divert the nature of this conversation, he was taken by surprise by the one she wanted to have. “Jon...do you regret my being pregnant? If you could undo it, would you?

Jon’s hand stills. Isn’t this what Sam had eluded too just a fortnight ago. Taking a breath to steady himself, he tells Dany the truth, but hopes that it does not pain her...even though he can’t see how it could not. “I do not see the benefits of second-guessing the wisdom of having a child, when it is clear that the time for the conversation has come and gone.” 

“I want to know. I need to. If I weren’t with child, I wonder how easy it would be for you to leave me. Why would you choose to stay? I am the more difficult woman to love, am I not.” Daenerys voice firm, resolute. 

“Easy to leave...I don’t know about that. Less difficult...I would say there may be more similarities than you would like to acknowledge in that regard. You both bring your own set of challenges. If I wanted easy, I could choose one woman or walk away from you both. I find that I can do neither...and while you are both different in many ways my reason for wanting both of you, while selfish, remains the same.” Daenerys nods, she reaches for his free hand to rest it on her belly. She presses his hand down firmly, bright violet eyes catch is gaze, as a small smile gracing her lips. Jon is not sure what they are waiting for until...the push...a firm force that thrusts against the wall of his palm. His throat tightens, for words escape him. This moment...a woman and a child, these were not written in the stars for the bastard Jon Snow. Unexpectedly moved, Jon rest his head against the back of Dany’s, his hand on their child, his tears absorbed by her hair. 

“I may not be glad of the timing of it all, Jon, but I do not regret having your child.” She whispers. They remained that way long into the night.

***

After spending two nights at Castle Black, Jon knows he must leave again. His body tells him that he should stay a bit longer to rest. He has kept a brutal pace of riding and inconsistent sleep, but his mind has already departed. Jon tells Daenerys that he plans to leave in a few days. “That will give me enough time for my horse to rest and to stock on provisions.” The Skirling Pass being the most challenging part of his journey, Jon persist on leaving even though Daenerys encourages him to write to Sansa...informing him of his arrival. Jon laughs at that idea, Dany face falling in offense. “I do not mean to mock you Dany, but Sansa was aware of my return to Winterfell, and she still left. Where do you think she’ll go next when given adequate notice of my arrival? I fear for her where she is. I have no desire to push her beyond where she has settled. The North...the True North...well, you’ve seen it.”

Daenerys nods her head, seemingly in concession to Jon’s words. “I guess there is some truth to your concerns. I just wonder...after having a few conversations with your _ “Lady”_. I am not sure you are prepared for how difficult a task you have before you, the terrain being the easiest of your challenges.” Jon had wondered when Daenerys would have mentioned her exchanges with Sansa. Truth be told he figured that the women would have had little to say to each other, aside from the initial meeting...which he envisioned to be fraught with anger and resentment, unless they found themselves forced to remain in each other presence. Jon found it suspect that they seemed to have a number of private exchanges, according to Tormund, and neither ended in violence. Well he wasn’t surprised about Sansa...for her temper elicits vicious words, unlike Daenerys...were her anger tends to lean towards the physical reprisal. What has astounded him has been the diplomatic way in which she has referred to Sansa...not demurred or cowered, but rather she is settled and candid. 

“Dare I ask what you both spoke of?” he gently inquired. Forewarned is forearmed, but not expecting Daenerys to have an ease with telling him about Sansa in such a domestic capacity.

“We spoke of the past. Our motivations...our actions...” She spoke, but refused to meet his eyes. “The specifics of our conversations are our own to keep, but I can say...I think it shed some awareness of when and where things went wrong...for both of us.”

Not sure he understands the full implications of her words just yet, he prods. “Is there any points in particular that prompted a change in mind?” Daenerys purple gaze pinned him to his spot. “Her knowledge that I chose to come North without your word to bend the knee seemed to alter Sansa’s perception a bit. Best you know in advance that she is aware.”  
While Jon was not surprised, he know his choice to keep silent on Dany’s decision to come help the North was one of his biggest mistakes. It is not for Daenerys to maintain the pretense of his stupidity when she has plenty of her own errors to acknowledge. He nods in understanding; Jon stands to look out of the window of their small room. “Anything else?”

Dany’s silence caused Jon to turn around, eyes urging her to say what she clearly is unsure of disclosing. “Perhaps my motivation for reclaiming the throne had less to do with my _ perceived birthright _, and perchance there was more desire for retribution laced in my desire to reclaim my home from the people who took it away. To punish the same people who catapulted an innocent babe and a defenseless boy into the horribleness the world truly could be.” The revelation stunned Jon. While he had his own ideas on how much Dany’s mission was combined with her need for retribution, he never presumed she would identify that flaw in her reasoning. The words, while spoken by Daenerys, sounded more like Sansa...when she deconstructs her thoughts out loud. Seems like the women’s conversations went beyond the superficial and petty, Jon considered. 

Sitting beside Dany, he places a hand over hers. “We all have horrors that we take with us. Dispensed by people who should know better. We need to remind ourselves that our pain doesn’t supersede someone else’s hurt. It does not always justify our actions...not when our acts come at the great cost of someone else.”

“Why do I feel that you are speaking those words more for your benefit than for mine?” A firm squeeze on his hand has Jon looking at her. “Because I am.” Jon reflects on how his decisions have impacted his family...the kingdom, and he questions what he must do, even if he may never rebuild their impressions of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know...I can already see the "I really hate your Jon..." comments in my inbox.
> 
> This chapter is a single and Dany's next once is as well...
> 
> Always love the support you reader send :) Keep the comments coming, just make sure they stay respectful.


	30. Daenerys VIIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys begins to think about her kingdom beyond Westeros. She seeks news from an unorthodox source. The contents of the update were unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Watching Jon leave once again was just as difficult as experiencing his previous departure. When he left for Winterfell she could tell herself that he would confront Sansa, and say the words that he needed to, and in her mind she sees him returning to her with Sansa's rejection in hand. But this man before her seems more determined than ever to find a woman who is working tirelessly to remain hidden. If the gods were speaking to Jon, then he was deliberately ignoring their signs. Maybe it is his quest...he is driven to accomplish the impossible for Sansa, just as he has tried to do that for her. Now that she has met the woman, spoken with her as two women speak...about matters of the heart, Dany is not confident that the man before her will return without some part of Sansa Stark. That news does not hurt her as sharply as it once did.

When Jon had learned of the ships ferrying Free Folk on the western side of the continent, he was surprised at the existence of such a route, but he seemed less phased after he was told that it was established by Sansa, with the help of a Northern lord. He just smiled at the news. When he asked about the next ship's next schedule departure, he discovered that the boat wouldn’t arrive at the pick-up location for about a fortnight, which would not include sailing time. He made the decision to leave with the next clan traveling by land.

Today he left with a tribe that lived near the entrance of the Skirling Pass. Not truly knowing how bad weather can be in the North, she was comforted to know that the elements remained mild and that Jon was not traveling alone.

***

During the sennight Jon remained with her, she found herself challenged once again...her notions of right and wrong. She thought that perhaps most people thought as she did, and that perhaps Jon was the outlier in all of this. Then her thoughts ran to Jorah and even Tyrion...for they always cautioned understanding and were slow to use extreme tactics to yield quick results. Perhaps there is an accord that can be met between the two schools of thought.

In her remoteness she begins to think about her kingdom...about Meereen. It is only now, during this self-imposed isolation she realizes that she knows very little of the comings and goings in Meereen. She had left her kingdom in the hands of a man she trusted, well, trusted enough to believe he would serve her best interest...for he had proven himself a devotee of seeing her wishes met in the past. Daenerys trusted that her advisors, especially Varys and his network, would have kept them appraised of progress in Meereen, but now that the momentum in her quest has stalled...she realizes that she has not heard one word about her kingdom or her people since she departed Slaver’s Bay.

Rising from the bed, she finds the babe controls when she is allowed to function...as she finds herself so tired most of the time. This time it seems as though her concerns are stronger than her child, and Daenerys remains awake with these thoughts. Wanting to reach out to her people, to be aware of the current situation, she is at a loss on how to secure such information. She could send a raven, but a raven across the sea does not make for a reliable mode of delivery. She could send one South to Kings Landing...as she and Jon have received ravens from there, but by now anyone living to receive much a missive would have fled. If she took the chance and sent it South, and someone did retrieve it, are there ships still going to Essos. Dany knows that the North still retains their ships, but she knows she is in no position to ask this Lord Manderly for the use of one. Sadly, even if she could get the letter to Essos, how would she forward it to Darrio Naharis. 

These thoughts run through Dany’s mind in the same pattern she paces across the floor. Until...it occurs to her that there is one person who could help her, and who might be inclined to. Running to the door, she pulls it open with a force that startles the guards standing at the entrance. “My Queen?” Her Unsullied declared. Always _My Queen_ by the Unsullied, while the Northerners are not disrespectful towards her, they never address her as My Queen, only just as _Queen Daenerys._ “I need a parchment and a quill. I must send a letter, and a raven.” She looks over to the Northman, “Can we trust that the ravens here will find Winterfell?” The man seems to be taken slightly off guard, but he replies, “Yes. Queen Daenerys. All ravens of the North would know how to find Winterfell.” She nods firmly. “Find that raven. I have a letter to send to Lord Stark, post haste.” The Northerner leaves to secure her request, she turns back towards her room...distracted by what she wants to write. It wasn’t until she heard a knock at her door that she realized that it had been closed. “Please come in...” And so, they do, with materials in hand Daenerys sits at the desk by candle side, as she pens a letter to her lover’s cousin, the only man she knows who can tell her what she so desperately wants to know.

***

Daenerys will admit to herself that there was a part of her at was scared her letter would be dismissed. She is wasn’t sure he would respond, even though he seemed unbothered by her existence when they both resided in Winterfell. Her fears quelled, when a fortnight passes before she receives a reply from Brandon Stark.

Holding the correspondence in her hands, they quake subtly as a new sense of apprehension arises. She opens the note warily as she reads his word carefully.

_Dear Queen Daenerys,_

_I have searched the answers you seek. I fear the responses will not be to your partiality. The kingdom of Meereen still remains...unbroken._

Unbroken. That is good news, why would Brandon phrase his letter as though this would not soothe her concerns. 

_There has been a bit of unrest after you left Meereen. Your man, Darrio Naharis, attempted but was unable to bring the people together to elect leadership to determine Meereen’s course in your absence. Another rebellion started shortly after you departed for Westeros. In an effort to placate the people after your departure, the fighting pits had been reestablished and there seemed to be disagreements about how the monies were to be dispensed, as slaves felt they were receiving too little for carrying the brunt of the load. They also felt the taxes on the fighters were too high, whereas the tax given to the gamblers too low. All of this culminated in an insurgence against the previous masters and your Regent. It seems instead of targeting the Masters directly, their children were the beneficiaries of their vengeance._

Daenerys began to feel helpless anger course through. She had done away with the pits, after trying to reestablish them...at the counsel of her former husband and advisors. The continuation of such practice was folly then and folly now. Darrio knew how she felt about it, and yet he granted permission for it to remain. Now the same people she sought to free, turned to murder...as she had. Did they sense from her that this was an acceptable behavior for retribution? Her heart heavy, tears fall, because in truth she never wanted this for the people she helped to save...never. 

_ In order to restore order, fighters were rounded up, a trial had, and those found guilty were expected to serve the sentence of mutiny by either fighting in the pits for an extended length of time or immediate death. Many chose death...too many. The fighters that remained eventually died participating in the games. Now very few people volunteer for the pit, only those in dire need, for poverty remains high for the former slaves. Concerned that any attempt to bring up the election process will create another possibility for bloodshed, your Regent uses a heavy hand to keep unrest from rising, but it still remains...as a simmering pot just waiting for the flames burn hotter, all for it to boil over...scalding everything in its path. There is too much spilled blood for the people to move past, and Naharis is aware of this. Your Unsullied have begun to arrive. They are taking note of the changes in your kingdom. I do not know yet if they will help or harm matters as they currently stand. _

_I wish this note bore better tidings,_

_Lord Brandon Stark of Winterfell and Warden of the North_

Numb. That is all she feels now, is numb. A very different sensation from what she felt when Jon had taken command away from her at King Landing. For so many years, she toiled to secure all she needed to bring herself back to the Seven Kingdoms, and on her journey she found herself ruling a kingdom of her own. She left the care of it to others while she continued to focus on her other dreams, and in doing so she overlooked her responsibility to the realm already in her hands. 

As a wall of water breaks through a dam, rushing and swallowing what lies before its path, memories and the emotions attached to them threaten to pull her under.

The first memory hits her hard...Jorah, her Bear...the loss of him tears open the tender wound his death still brings her. Jorah tells her she has enough to go to Westeros, to take her birthright and to leave all in Slaver’s Bay behind. 

_“How can I rule Seven Kingdoms, if I can’t control Slaver’s Bay? Why should anyone trust me? Why should anyone follow me?”_

_“You’re a Targaryen. You are the mother of dragons.”_

_“I need to be more than that. I will not let those I have freed slide back into chains. I will not sail for Westeros.”_

_“What, then?”_

_“I will do what queens do. I will rule.”_

I had made the right choice, but somewhere I lost sight...why did I leave the process of choosing a leader to Darrio? If it was my plan, then I should have been the one to execute it...and he to maintain. 

The next scene come fast and harsh...sitting with Tyrion in Meereen before sparing him to serve as my advisor. 

_“Advise you on what.” _

_“How to get what I want.”_

_“The Iron Throne. Perhaps you should try wanting something else.”_

_“If I want jokes, I’ll get myself a proper fool.”_

_“I’m not entirely joking. There’s more to the world than Westeros after all.”_

_“How many hundreds of thousands of lives have you changed for the better here? Perhaps this is where you belong. Where you can do the most good?” _

_“I fought so that no child born into Slaver’s Bay would ever know what it meant to be bought or sold. I will continue that fight here and beyond. But this is not my home.” _

I didn’t stay, and though I am still angry with Tyrion...he was not wrong. I did the most good in Slaver’s Bay, hadn’t I? _”But this is not my home.”_ Shame hits her...when she speaks she talk of her people. Aren’t her people a sign of home? If Meereen was not her home, then the Meereenese where not her people...then who was she speaking of?

The previous image blurs, and now she sits on her stallion riding beside Daario as he tells her, 

_"You weren't made to sit on a chair in a palace. You're a conqueror, Daenerys Stormborn."_

And what does she do after hearing his words...she reunites with Drogon, she finds her khalessar, and she tells them she chooses them...that they will help her burn men in their iron suits...words much suited to a conqueror than a queen. Words she made true...not in some poetic speech, but in reality.

A conversation with Jon comes to mind. Standing over the hill in Dragonstone, she asked him for his advice, seeing as she suffered great defeat against Cersei. 

_“I never thought that dragons would exist again. No one did. The people who follow you know that you made something impossible happen. Maybe that helps them believe that you can make other impossible things happen. Build a world that’s different from the shit one they’ve always known. But if you use that to melt castles and burn cities, you’re not different; you’re just more of the same.”_

More of the same...hadn’t he reminded her of that since he took Kings Landing from her, the countless back and forth on the ship about her actions...all signs telling her she has made herself unfit to rule anyone...anymore...and yet she persist in one more attempt. 

The final recollection has her walking towards Drogon, while Tyrion attempts to keep up with her, he tries to use his words to move her from her intentions. _“If that’s the type of Queen you want to be, how are you different from all the other tyrants who came before you?”_

Daenerys doesn’t feel the letter slip from her fingers; all she can do is stare blindly before her. For the first time ever, she is forced to admit to herself that the aspirations she was so sure she wanted were not what she actually achieved. She told herself she wanted to be a Queen that freed people from oppression and tyranny, to protect them from what she too endured. She left those people unprotected, for if she were a true queen she would never have left them not with the person she had. She trusted Darrio because he was convenient. In trusting him, she could be free to go towards what she really wanted...to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. But what she became was a conqueror...and a captor does not rule...such person’s never do....they overpower those they deem lesser and once that is done, they find another place to conquer. Wasn’t that her new plan...before Jon stopped her? 

Falling onto the edge of the bed, Daenerys is left alone with her thoughts, her mind whispering..._What have you done? What have you become?_ She wept, a brokenhearted gut-wrenching sound that could be heard by all...echoing around the keep, silenced only when exhaustion finally consumed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I will say, I felt for Dany in this chapter. Did you feel the same? Thoughts are always welcomed.
> 
> Thank you for your support and constructive feedback. Keep them coming. 
> 
> The next post will probably be on Sunday night/Monday morning (depending on where you live).
> 
> Until then, happy reading!


	31. Sansa VIIII (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Arya discuss the future. The King Beyond the Wall has arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning to all readers:** There is a hunting scene in the very beginning of this story. It’s not intense, but everyone has different feelings about such things. Though if you like GoT, you probably got over that a long time ago. But just in case, you can skip that part by scrolling down to the words **“The women walk”**. I have bolded these words so it will catch you eye as you scroll.
> 
> Fyi...the time lines are all synced back. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing

A plump long-eared hare stretched its body upright, its nose scenting the early morning air. An animal normally hidden from the cold, it must have awoken after the warm thaw which arrive a fortnight past, for if it is awake then it must be in search of food. Sansa leans against the tree...using it to disguise her location. Quietly she waits for the hare to make its way towards the clearing, near a small patch of weeds, bringing the animal into Sansa line of sight. Sansa readied herself just as Theon once told her, when she asked about why he preferred a bow and arrow over swords, _ “A sword is fine, but a bow and arrow are an extension of both hands. It a different kind of battle...one of will and patience...it is a battlefield where brute force will never prevail.”_

Arrow nocked, bow string pulled back, fingers placed just so allowing for the right target distance, draw weight maintained, and with the hare in view Sansa exhales a slow steady stream of breath, stops, then lets the arrow loose. The beautiful creature flinches as the arrow pierces its neck, before falling down onto the snow.

“Wow. That was...well done, Sansa.” Arya’s voice cut through the stillness of the forest. 

Sansa shrugs her shoulders, not sure how to take such praise. Sometimes she can still hear her mother and Septa voices as they lecture on the proper role a woman is to play. She shakes her head at such foolishness. While she loves her mother and misses her terribly, Catelyn Stark left her daughters woefully unprepared for the realities of the world...well at least she left Sansa unprepared. Seems like her sister intrinsically knew she needed to know more...she knew what it truly meant to be Northern. A hard and long overdue session Sansa finally studied. Though maybe it wouldn’t hurt the South for their daughters to be skilled with various types of sharp objects...other than a sewing needle. She smiles at the thought of Margaery Tyrell with a bow and arrow of her own. Now that would be a new kind of Southern woman. 

Arya walked to the hare, she pulled out the arrow...handing it to Sansa. In a perfunctory way she took the arrow and placed it in her quiver, she’d concern herself with cleaning it afterwards. Tools are hard to come by and Sansa makes an effort to maintain all that she has...besides, these arrows are all she has left of her friend. Her sister drops the animal into the small basket Sansa brought with her. 

**The women walk**, their words spoken quietly and infrequently as not to disturb other hunters in the woods. Once they reach the clearing Ayra looks over at Sansa. The older woman can see her sibling has something to say, but wonders if she should let her sister speak her mind when she is ready or should she insist. When it appears that Arya is about to speak, she closes her mouth without uttering a word. Not sure what to do with this Arya, for speaking her mind is not a weakness her sister suffers from, Sansa halts there progression back to her home. “Arya. What is it? For the last mile you have done nothing but attempt to speak. Now you are the quieter sister but you do not suffer the affliction of mutism. Now speak and be done with it.”

Watching the raven-haired head turn away from her, eyes looking out towards the sea. “I received a raven from Bran...sent by Bran.”

Sansa was confused by Arya’s declaration as no raven are trained to fly this far north and none would know to come to the settlement. Any correspondence Sansa has received as always been by sea. Understanding dawns on Sansa...Bran entered a raven, bringing the bird here with his message. Twice concerned that her brother is skin changing and that the message has rattled Arya, she proceeds to inquire about the note. “Is everything alright?”

“He says I should accompany Jon when he goes to the summit.” The woman speaks quietly. Sansa can see why her sister should be there. Even though she is upset with Jon, she would never leave him without support. That is just not how he and Arya work. “When do you leave?”

Marching up to Sansa, Arya yells, “Do you want me to go? Seriously Sansa, are you perfectly fine with me just leaving you here for him...after everything? Sansa, for bloody sake _show that you feel something!_” 

Sansa take a step back, away from her sister’s space, creating distance for her own. Her eyes flooded with tears, not for sadness nor pity, but with anger. “Of course, I do not want you to go? Jon made his choices. Just as you will make yours. Why do you and Bran insist on standing by him? Why? When you suffer? The last time you both were there for him, Bran lost his sight and you did what you did because he asked it of you...and you felt more of yourself disappear. What do you think will happen now? What else will you lose to Jon Snow?” 

Arya’s grey eyes widened as Sansa’s voice rose in rage. A sadness moved between the sisters, a share understanding of hurt. “I don’t want to go, Sansa. I really don’t. I want to stay with you...” Arya’s steady voice breaks, as tears cover her Stark eyes, “I just think if somethings happens to him, even though I am so bloody cross with him, if there was something I could have seen or prevented, I would not be able to live with myself. He is still our family...he is still pack.”

Sansa holds onto her sisters face, bringing the two women together, nodding in agreement of her sister trailing words. 

“Yet, he acts like a lone wolf...” 

“As we all have at one time or another, Sansa. Consider some of your past actions. Seriously, look at where you are right now?” 

“Why did you ask me if I wanted you to go?”

“Because I wanted you to say you wanted something for yourself...even if it may not come to pass. I want you to stop laying down. I want you to fight.”

Sansa examines her sister’s words, finding genuine care in them. Sansa tries to return in kind. “Then go. Go with no regrets. I was never a good sister to you...I was dreadful Arya, mean and cruel, but he was there. Always. I understand your connection to him. While it is different for mine, I understand it all the same.” 

The sister fell into an embrace. Holding each other tightly, Sansa breathing her in as it might be her last time. 

“Hmmm...you’re right, you truly were a dreadful older sister. By the Gods...” Both laughed into each other’s shoulders. The humor masking the hurt one sister inflicted on the other, allowing them a chance to rebuild a new sisterhood as women...and not as girls. Sansa just hopes that her sister’s next journey to the South will not be her last. 

“A little more unsolicited advice, just don’t give what you can’t afford to. I was recently given some sound counsel about the feeling of indebtedness. So, after this undertaking, _“Whatever debt you feel you owe him, consider it paid in full.”_”. Pulling away from her sister, Sansa grabs the basket, continuing on her way.

“Hmmm...why do we suffer indigestion when our sound advice is returned to us in equal measure.” Sansa is shocked by the snort of laughter she is still able to produce after such a solemn conversation. “_San_, Bran ended his note quite cryptically.” 

“Ha! Aren’t all of Bran’s missive written in such as way.” Sansa rejoins. Arya gestures in agreement. _ San, huh..._” She watches her younger sister’s trademark smirk grace her Stark face. “He told you about that?” Unable to keep her eyebrow from rising after hearing the diminutive of her name, the one given to her by one man. They continued to walk companionably down the path towards the main settlement when Arya’s next words stop her in mid-stride. “He said remind Sansa, _ “I told him where you were, but not where you are.”_ What do you suppose that means?”

Taking in a deep breath, closing her eyes, and finding strength for what is to come, she tells her sister, “Jon’s almost here, if he’s hasn’t arrived already.”

***

Sansa didn’t have to wait very long for Jon’s return. She felt it before she saw him. There was a change in the energy that the settlement typically produced, and being that the sun just slipped below the sea the camp should have been quieter...and it wasn’t. The dins where subtle at first, starting in Hindya’s home, then it traveled to the bathing huts, and now it’s made its way to where she is. The air buzzed with surprise, a joyful lit to a cacophony of words floated past Sansa’s ears as she tried to eat her evening stew. She and Arya sat across from each other on a long bench. From the expression on the younger Stark woman, Sansa knew her sister felt it too. The sounds, the feelings, all of these alter the liveliness of the Free Folk when they are in his presence. Tormund once told her that this was a ‘thing’ among his people. _ “You can always tell who’s the King Beyond the Wall. We don’t get this way for everybody...” his laughter trails as does her memory._

The noise outside the wooden building began to increase, until a gust of wind brought the clamor inside signaling that new guests were entering. The slant of her eyes, a tilt of her head, and a small frown that puckered her sister’s lips confirmed all she needed to know. Jon was here. Forcing herself to take another bite, as the sisters stared at one another...holding a conversation known only to them. A decision made, feeling the heat and the scent that she always associated with Jon Snow solid behind her, Sansa rises and without turning back she exits the longhouse and makes her way towards her hut. 

“Sansa.” His voice...so Northern...a call to...home. It’s been so long since she’s heard it, so long since she has heard him say her name in that way. She pushes the sentimentality down and ignores him. Her intent is not to speak with him in front of curious eyes. “Sansa.” She continues walking, not slowing her stride. “SANSA!” She stops, his yell almost as loud as his dragon’s roar. Both man and beast bringing her instinct to the surface...to freeze. Remembering that she had lived through all sorts of pain, the thought of what Jon can do doesn’t scare her. It just will bring her more disappointment. Putting one foot before the other, she continues to walk away. 

Sansa enters her abode, not finding much choice in bringing him here. While the walls are thin and the words to come loud, it still affords her a sense of privacy...even though the thought is misleading at best. Igniting the fire in the room keeps her eyes focused on anything but seeing him. The flames illuminate the space in a softer light, much like it had many times they found themselves together over time. Nonetheless the easy feelings that accompanied those moment were not here, not in this instance. All she could feel was an uncontrollable amount of...rage. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So its finally here...just a little tease...lol.
> 
> I promise the next chapter is full on interaction between Sansa and Jon. 
> 
> So what do you think she's going to say? How do you think Jon will react?
> 
> Thanks for your supportive comments, kudos, subscriptions, and bookmarks!
> 
> Until next time...happy reading!


	32. Sansa VIIII (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa discovers Jon has found her. Overdue words are said by both, leave Sansa challenging what she knows and feels about Jon and herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So its finally here...Jon & Sansa!
> 
> I have major anxiety about posting this. Throughout the course of the story many commenters have posted their thoughts on how this first exchange would go. You might find like it fits the story, you might think she's too hard on him and not hard enough on herself, or you might think she's too passive. What I want you to keep in mind as you read this chapter, is that no matter what Jon has or hasn't done...this Sansa does love him...very deeply. While most of us would keep on walking...lol...this Sansa will be conflicted. 
> 
> Please keep the comments constructive...I know this chapter is going to bring up some strong feelings...especially among Jonsa fans. I'm ready for the criticism...bracing for impact :)
> 
> On a side note...we have reached over 100K words...wow! That's a lot of writing and a lot of reading. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

With her eyes remaining solely on the fire, her voice foreign to her ears as she speaks five words she hoped she would never have to utter. “Why are you here Jon?”

“Why am I here? I’m here because you are here. I’m here because you were not in Winterfell, which was where I went in search of you.” His voice equally measured, but she could hear trepidation and fury...such an odd combination from him for why should he feel that way towards her._He made his choice._

“That does not answer my question. Why would my location sway you in any way to search for me? Why look for me at all? I will say it again. Why are you here Jon?” She rest the thick branch, she used to get the fire started, on the ground. She turned away towards the table, debating if she should have a cup of ale before enduring this conversation. 

His breath quakes as he exhales, a tell that notifies her of his intent to deflect...just as he did when she asked him if he bent the knee to Daenerys because he loved her. She closes her eyes tightly, bracing herself for the words that will hurt her once again. 

“I know you have no cause to believe me, for my record of late leaves one feeling less confident in my intentions, but I persist nevertheless because you are important...this, us, we are important. I have been traveling to find you because there are words I need to say, but more importantly there are words you need to hear. After we say all that we should have, we go home...while I hope at the end of this I hope you find that with me, but if not I will take you...home.”

Sansa takes in his words, and all she hears troubles her. _“I need..._, of course HE needs..._you need..._ I once thought I NEEDED many things from you...ah, there is a “WE”...finding a home with him...Daenerys words make more sense to her now...regardless of what she chooses he’ll take her HOME. Unable to contain it any longer, the anger morphs into laughter so strong that she is shaking with it. Her eyes still against the wall alongside the table, “Haven’t you said enough? Must I suffer more of your words? Haven’t I heard enough?” She laughter ceases into one long groan. “Where is home Jon? Could it be Castle Black, Winterfell, or Kings Landing. Has the thought ever occurred to you that I am _home_?”

After all this time, she never lost the ability to stop feeling his eyes on her. She half-turns her face, a tilt, his face still out of view but a silhouette of hers remains in his sight. “How am I important to you?”

His voice rumbles like gravel on a riding path. “Are we going to have his conversation with you looking at a wall?” Sansa smarts at the comment, but bitterly thinks she’d probably get a clearer answer out of the wall before receiving one from Jon. Hating the truth in his words, she slowly turns and the punch to the gut she expected to received was just a gentle tap when compared to the wreckage seeing him before her truly brought her. Though silent to the room, she could feel the air just leave her body, her legs felt unstable, she could not breath and she could not move. His eyes pinned hers, his usually the first to shift is gaze away from hers, they held and held...until she averted her glance. 

Jon was truly here. He looked a little travel weary, but he looked good...no extra scars she could see, though she knows that they are several more that mar is soul. Tactfully, she tries to examine him as he looks at her. His eyes keep darting around her face, her hair...there is a visage upon his face that she refuses to acknowledge with fanciful words for they would not be true. They couldn’t be. 

He walks slowly towards her, not touching...though his hand had reached out a time or two to do just that. “I should not be here.” Not sure how to interpret that, her brow furred in confusion. 

“I died. The Stranger came with my name on his lips and deemed it so. The Red Priestess brought my body back, but me...Jon, he was still with The Stranger. Upon that resurrection I breathed, I ate, I moved, and I spoke, but the world no longer made sense to me. My plan was to leave, aimless, without purpose. Then you arrived.” 

Wanting distance from the earnestness she heard in his words, she continued to meet his eyes, but she physically moved away. 

“The moment my eyes saw you, I couldn’t believe it...you were there, the last vestige of what grounded me...a Stark, and in that instance so much of who I was returned. I felt it coursing its way into my body and settling in spaces molded from the years that made me who I was. Except there were spaces that I could feel. Gaps that once weren’t there.”

Her heart hurt for Jon. She knows this story well. The betrayal of his men, even if at the time they thought they had been right. On their campaign he whispered his worries about not feeling completely like the Jon he used to be, and he shared concerns of what that might have meant.

“Over time those pieces that felt ill-fitted began to fill with something that made me feel comfortable with myself once again. An imprint that I could not seem to release myself from, when the laws of man considered it a sin.” 

His words hurt her because he voiced what she has felt for so long. Until they were reunited she had felt parts of herself slipping to a point where she could no longer identify who she was. Then those old parts and new parts created a much different woman from the one she could recognize as her...she understands that alteration of self...devastatingly so. 

“I thought I could try to walk away from that, because the world we live in would never understand. We both know that would have been the right thing to do. Though you are now my cousin, I still don’t think there will be easy...not the type we would have had if we were raised with the knowledge. Even with all this understanding, I searched for you...because I love you Sansa Stark. After all we have done...the half-truths, omissions, silences, and...betrayals, I still know that you are worth defying the odds for.” He finally looks away, his throat seeming to word diligently as if to keep words in...or usher them out...for that she is not sure. Silence strangles the air out of the room. Sansa decides that ale, for both, is in order. Pouring the liquid into two cups, she forces herself to think about his words because her heart just wants to accept them...as though all has been given blanketed forgiveness, but it hasn’t. It can’t be. They’re matters, events they must discuss before she could even allow herself a minute of consideration of his words. 

She passes him a cup, sits on the bench by the table. She takes a sip of her own, hoping to wet her tongue to speak. “You have spoken more to me in the last fifteen minutes than you have in a long time. You say that I, _ “am worth defying the odds...”_ , there was a time I would have wished you would have spoken these words, words that would move me to be with you, but those days of words are gone, Jon.” 

Placing the cup beside her, Sansa begins to feel the anger insulating her words. “In my mind, I understand why we couldn’t be. I do. But you just left me to handle everything ruling a kingdom entailed, and I did because my family words do not end with _ Winter is Coming_. They included family, duty, and honor as well. We fought to get our home back, and the people of the North fought for us and with us. We removed a madman who killed his own father to be Lord. It was only a matter of time before he killed us all. When we reclaimed Winterfell, we lost Rickon, but we had each other...the only family we had left then. Subsequently duty began. A duty to our House, to the bannermen, to the small folk. So much had been lost and broken from the moment our House fell, and while you worried about the Night King, I worried about everything else because despite everything...despite what you believe...I had faith that you would prevail. So, I had to plan for the aftermath, a conversation you never wanted to entertain...never. All you kept telling me was that if the Night King wins, nothing matters. Then in goddamn letter, you tell me you gave away our kingdom, and in the end _it did matter._ Your complete focus on one thing, blinded you to so much. For there is no stupidity in planning for the unknown Jon. All of this was happening and we had us to contend with. Every time we pulled together...you just pushed me away, because your precious honor wouldn’t allow you to act towards me. In the end that didn’t even matter, all this effort to maintain your honor when the woman you chose to give it to threw it away in a fit of rage.” Chest rising in exertion of streaming words she could not seem to stop.

Sansa tries to calm herself, for her heart is beating so hard she can feel the organ pound against her chest. She holds on to her hands, pressing them against her lips, trying to regain a sense of control over herself. “You speak of betrayals. Can you really forgive mine? For I do not know if I can forgive yours.”

Jon sits on a stool in front of the fire, the flames serving as a line between the two. “When Varys approached me once I arrived on Dragonstone, I knew...” His paused, his head bowed, but he continued his thought. “In that moment I realized...that it was you who told my secret after I explicitly asked you not to.” A dark head rose, heated eyes found hers, a frown crept up on his full lips. “It didn’t matter than you hadn’t told him directly, it did not matter why you had told because you revealed it all the same. You had promised. Made an oath by the weirwood and I trusted in that...in you.” He rose to pour himself another cup of ale, Sansa could not tell if the motivation to do so was out of dehydration or to delay further conversation. 

“I have learned through conversation from others, that I have been blind when it comes to you, that I do share my reasonings only my expectations. Perhaps if I spend more time on explaining myself then you would have felt differently about the expectations. That if I spoke more, then maybe the burdens on you would have been lesser. In understanding this about myself I have found a large part of my blindness comes from your lack of speech.” Sansa’s eyes widen in disbelief. 

A choked chuckle bubbled forth. “My lack of speech. That rich coming from the likes of you Jon Snow. The man so riddled in thought, but who rarely says a word that is not a demand of some kind. 

He leave his cup at the table, making his way towards her, standing close in proximity. His voice measured, calm. “Aye. You’re right, when I speak it sounds it is a demand. Most people I speak to are expecting a direction. I forget...forgotten that you are not looking for such from me. But Sansa...you say many words, and sometimes I do not know what you truly mean. At times you say things to take the temperature of a person, so the words you utter may be true, may be false, or a combination in between. You do that with me. I understand where it comes from in you, but it exhausts me because I would gladly tell you what you wanted to know, if you were willing to wait for me to formulate my thoughts well enough to share them. I am not like you Sansa. I can’t just say what I mean without thinking it through. We are the same in that regard, I just can’t do it at the speed in which you do. You are impatient with me and so you test me, and from those examinations you make a quick assessment of where I stand leaving me no room to move on your continuum. Then I am stuck where you have placed me and you work around me, but you don’t always have my true intent.”

She is staggered by what he just told her. Did she treat him so? In the past, was she that resolved towards him that she didn’t have the best interpretation of Jon’s motivations? Was she biased in her considerations of him?

“I knew when you said, _ “How can I promise to keep a secret if I don’t know even know what it is?”_, that the likelihood of you keeping your word was improbable. That is why I gave Bran the leave to tell you, and not I. I thought maybe the betrayal would hurt less if I wasn’t the one who actually spoke the words, but rather if it were Bran...then may haps you didn’t break my trust...not really.”

Sansa found she could not look him in the eye. She knows she betrayed him. While she has let her faith in the gods die, she knew what an oath before the tree meant to Jon...for he still believed. And even if she did not believe in the gods, he asked and she gave her word...something she had learned, after many moons in the North, meant her bond, and she sacrificed it. Even though she knows much of her decision had to do with protecting Jon and the North, a small part of her acted because she was angry with him. It shames her to admit that in her fury of being overlooked by him, she gained a temporary sense of empty satisfaction in telling Tyrion...empty because once she told him the bitter spite transformed into haunting regret. When she spoke with Daenerys, Sansa still stands firm in the knowledge that disclosing Jon’s parentage was a smart tactical move. She just didn’t need to be the one to share it. It would have taken a short amount of time, but she knows between Arya and Bran, that they could have made Jon see the intelligence in such a disclosure. That understanding that her anger got the better of her, that remnant of her old self still alive and well, it embarrasses her to acknowledge those negative aspects of her.

“But I did. Are you truly okay with that?”

“I don’t think I will ever say you were right to do so, but I understand some of the reasons I gave you to break it. Maybe in the large picture of everything that has or is happening, in comparison this is something that I could move past.”

Sansa ponders his words. It’s not forgiveness he is offering, but rather a pact that past actions are acknowledge but both parties continue without inflicting further harm to each other.

“A novel idea, if the parties could hold to it.” He huffs out a laugh in her direction. His dark eyes lingering on her, seeing her, taking her in. Feeling self-conscious because she isn’t sure what her face is revealing to him, she returns to her cup. “Are you at peace with Daenerys and the incidents in the South have you embraced your loss of honor...the thing that defines you, Jon?” 

Subtly she observes Jon as he paces by her bed, his large strong hands running over his head, not disturbing the strap holding part of it in a bun. “Peace. No. I don’t foresee any rest for me in that regard. I will spend the rest of my life reliving Kings Landing. While I supported her right to fight for the Iron Throne, the extreme tactics she used were not acceptable to me. This pushed me beyond what my..._sense of decency,_ is able to withstand. This is why we are in this situation.”

Sansa’s left eyebrow rises at his declaration. “Hmmm...no Jon, we are here because you never spoke to me. Not about what mattered. You came home with her and you tried to force me to ingest this this idea that she would be a good queen when you or any of her other advisors provided no proof that she would be a good one for the North. I understand she had her Unsullied and Dothraki and that they chose her...but people choose people all the time. Your people chose you for the gods sake. That does not mean someone else’s ruler is a suitable one for all. Daenerys nary spoke for herself; Tyrion gave me little reason to accept her, and you gave me even less. All I heard was she would be a good queen, good for Westeros...but not one thought to tell me how...yet you needed me to set the example for all...to be the one who followed you onto her alter of people who have bent the knee.”

Jon had opened his mouth, to respond she assumed, but she continued right ahead dismissing his attempt to talk. “It wasn’t until the day you left, and weeks later when I finally spoke with Daenerys myself at Castle Black, that it truly dawned on me that there was no plan...just a grand idea. Ideas, hopes...are not plans, they are dreams.” She stomped into his face, all concerns about creating distance between then gone. Unadulterated wrath was all that remained. “All you did was dictate or demand, but you never heard me...until it was too late, and even then the awareness still doesn’t matter to you.” The rage beginning to climb.

Clearly pushing Jon to hold his tongue led him to lash out. His voice as loud as hers. “Do you want to hear you were right? Is that it Sansa?” His body vibrating before hers.

Control lost and pure anger seeing her through, like band sniped at its tautest part her hand shout out...a resounding slap echoed between them, her desire to make him hurt superseding her love for him in this moment. Both of them frozen, Jon’s face turned with the force of her hit, a curl falls across his eyes. He gaze slowly raises, a glint in his eyes, a barely held restraint. She raises both her hands pushing hard against Jon’s chest, causing the man to stumble back. “YES, I DO!” Poised to hit him, he pushed her arm away...still in control of his temper because his deflection was gentle. “I was, damn you. I don’t want to hear you admit it because I want to rub it in your face. I want you to acknowledge that I wasn’t crazy, that my intuition wasn’t wrong, the way you made me think it was. You made me think it was my jealousy that drove me to behave the way that I had. But never did you think that maybe I was justified. That maybe, personal feelings aside, I was making a rational choice given the way I perceived what was happening in Winterfell. You were the one who wasn’t rational, Jon, and you made it seem like it was me just because you couldn’t handle the pressures of ruling or us.” Sansa turned to give Jon her back, tears burned her eyes, she shut her eyes, whispered prayers to anyone or anything that still existed to not let them fall...to not let him see. 

“I was rational Sansa. I made the best decisions with the information I had. That time was singular. There is no way to know which choices are the best ones when an army of corpses is coming. Nothing in any of my lessons as a boy or my life at the Wall prepares you for that.” She can feel him standing behind her. She can always feel him...does he feel her? Once upon a time she thought he could...

“You bent the knee when you didn’t have to. Daenerys told me she had agreed to come North to help us. Did she lie?”

Breaths in and out, both following a shared pattern, was all that could be heard. Sansa waited for the words to come. She knew the answer already. She just needed to hear the words come out of his mouth. The big half-truth that lead to betrayal.

He released a hard breath, the warm air against her patch of skin, across from where her braid sat over her shoulder. “No, she didn’t lie. Daenerys did agree to come, but I still bent the knee to secure the alliance.” 

With the words she knew to come, a tear made its way down her face. She shook her head in...trepidation? Resentment? Disappointment? Anger? Hurt? So many feelings coursing through her. She didn’t try to fight it, so Sansa just let it be. Turning around to look at him, her tears coming more steadily now. Jon grabs her face; his thumbs attempt to clear off the tears that carved a path over her cheeks. He looks regretful, she thinks, but his touch and his words don’t stop what tumbles forth from her lips. 

“No Jon. At that point you didn’t bend the knee. You gifted our home, our independence to your lover. Just like your father gifted my aunt a crown of blue winter roses, and the country burned for it. Your gift led to the same end.” He doesn’t release her face, but he does visibly flinch at her words.

Her voice soft, even to her own ears. He shakes his head. Sansa wonders if it’s to disagree with her previous words or perhaps to ward off what she will say next. She stares at his eyes, finding that after everything she could still get lost in them. “I don’t know why you’re here Jon. For a while you have made it very clear that you need my mind, when it suits your purposes. Other than that, you spare me little thought. Is this why you are here? Do you need my help? I guess for every Targaryen male with two women in his life, one must always play the role of love and the other for duty.” 

His pulls her close, resting his forehead against hers, his head still shaking...no. She can see his eyes are closed; his long dark lashes are wet. “Well, clearly Dany is your Rhaenys or your Lyanna...depending on the Targaryen male. I am to be your Visenya...oh what a laugh Arya would have at that, better yet, your Elia.” Sansa pulls back, pulling Jon’s hands from cradling her face, a sad smile move her lips. “Well I won’t be like them, Jon. I will not wait until you kill me...whether through neglect or your indifference.” She know Jon is not a bad man, and that he would never want to harm her, but she know now that he has...this brave man who is gentle and strong, who is flawed like everyone else. 

Jon right arm snakes around her waist, pulling her back towards him. She reaches for his arm to remove it when his other makes its way around her. The warms of his body, heating her own. “I am not like them...not in that way. I had decided to fight for Winterfell for you, long before I had known about of Rickon. Hells, I was ready to take you South when I decided I would leave Castle Black.” Once again his head is against hers, their heavy breath mingled between them, is eyes clear, yet impassioned. “I admit I didn’t know how to handle loving the woman I knew to be my sister. Yes, we were not close as kids, but that didn’t erase what I thought they were supposed to be to each other.” His right thumb returned to her lower lip...caressing it, his eyes fixated on that one act. “You had no shame to give and all I lived with my whole life was shame.” Jon’s thumb starts to tug gentle on her full lip, the salt of his flesh catches her tongue. The light in his eyes to bright to look at, she averts her eyes. “Sansa, I do not regret that I didn’t give in to every desire to touch you then, but that didn’t mean the love wasn’t there.” The heat in his eyes dim, “I do owe you an apology for not speaking my mind, for not giving you the chance to speak yours. If had, then maybe...” his voice tapers into silence.

Then what? He wouldn’t have bent the knee. He wouldn’t have gone South. He would have stopped his lover from destroying a city...maybe what, Jon? Willing herself not to care anymore, she finds it hard to distance herself from Jon, so Sansa deflects his words, “I know you and Daenerys are trying to continue with your vision. Yes, she shared it with me. Well, in as much detail as she has designed. Its admirable, but it’s not going to be easy. I don’t know if, all will end the way she hopes, or that we will see it run smoothly in our lifetime.” She pulls his large hands away from her waist, the imprint of his palm still felt through her clothes as though his hands were laid on her skin. “While remaining ever the pessimist, I hope it does work. The country is too tired and too battered to continue the way it has. It’s time for a change...and a revolutionary one, maybe this one by you and _your queen_, might do the trick.” She sends him a doubtful smile as she steps away from him. “Maybe...”

He reaches for her arm, always touching her like he did in Winterfell...when they were alone away from critical eyes. Why does this remain so natural between us? “My Queen?” She laughs, dressed as a Free Folk she could imagine what the words must sound like coming from her. She touches his cheek, once again close to him, “Yes, you kneelers are found of your queens.” Silence. “Go South, Jon. Go back to your Queen, and your child. Go and try to make amends for the tragedy in Kings Landing.” It’s her turn to pull his face into hers. Crown to crown, she earnestly looks into his eyes...trying to keep the heart she knows is breaking once again from bleeding through. “What are you doing here, Jon? Your family waits for you. Go...go find your happiness and let me seek my own.” 

Jon arms once again pull her close. She think that this might be the last time she feels these strong arms around her. A proper goodbye. One hand leaves her waist, as it travels up her body, finding purchase in her hair, tilting her head so that he can speak quietly into her ear. “I need you to know that Dany was not in my plans.” He rest his head against the side of her, his breath blowing through her hair. “Now that they exist, I don’t regret her or the babe. I only wish I had done things differently. But I didn’t know what I didn’t know.” Sansa feels both of Jon’s hands holding her head. His fingers weaving through her hair. She knows she should pull away, but if this is the last touch... 

“The truth changes everything for me. There is truth to your words. My actions to pushed you away was in protection of you from myself, and that resulted in unintended consequences. I never want you to doubt yourself. At times it’s hard for me to keep up with you. Its maddening. I kept myself locked away because the truth was I couldn’t trust myself with you.” Jon presses his lips to her brow, such a familiar touch...his for her. “Sansa, you wanted me to be a man that acted on his feelings for you, but I couldn’t. Not as your brother, no matter how much I craved your smile, your touch, your warmth. But I am not your brother, nor do I want to be. My reasons for restraint no longer hold. You wanted a man of action; well you have one. 

Words and actions muddled her mind, making it was too late for Sansa to react to Jon’s lips against her own until she felt them. Her lips parted somewhat in shock; he used that reaction to gain entry into her mouth. His kiss scalded her. Once hand gripped her hips, while the other pressed at the nape of her neck, pulling her closer to him. Flush against this hard body, Sansa was left with little doubt of Jon’s attraction to her surpassed small kisses and the occasional long full body hugs. Needing to feel grounded to something she threaded her fingers into his hair, the strap loosening, falling to the ground. She returned his kiss, her lips seeking his. Jon pulled away from her, leaving a trail of tenders kisses down her jaw, tracing her jawline with the speared tip of his tongue, his teeth catching her ear. Moans hit her ears, but she couldn’t tell which of them made the soft noises. Moving with him, cloaks fell, and so did their bodies...onto her bed. Jon’s hard body breaking her fall. She found her legs straddling his hips, hands tugging at clothes, their lips finding each other once again as he sits up. Hands pulling and tugging at hair...black over red, labored breaths, soft sighs that hinted of promise of what was to come. In her two marriages and one failed betrothal, never has Sansa felt herself be this uninhibited, this uncontrolled. Jon pulls away from her swollen lips, he begins to kiss down the long slope of her neck. His other hand pulls her tunic out of her trousers. The heat from his hand sliding up her back, touching her pockmarks Ramsey’s blade left along her once unblemished flesh, pressing her closer to him. However, feeling his hands on the scars she has always hidden from him, his hardness flush against her, all serves as a much-needed awakening to reality. What is she doing? They don’t get to have this, right? He can’t just come here, and disrupt her peace, when he’s leaving her anyhow. What does he want from her...and if she knew would she want what he wanted? Would she want to fold to his pleas? 

Using her strength to push him away, “Jon, stop.” He pulls partially away from her, his hair askew, eyes wild and predatory. Breathless as he traces his tongue, which only moments before traced her skin, against his swollen lips. Could he still taste her the way she could still savor him? Stopping this before it spiraled out of more control, she slid out of the bed, walking to the other side of the room. Trying to comb her hair with her fingers, to make some semblance of order in this chaotic moment. Jon follows her, he grips her shoulders through her tunic, his touch igniting a burn within so that she is forced to look at him. Sansa can anticipate his words, but she is too emotionally twisted to speak about what just occurred and not sure she is strong enough to resist what she has wanted for so long...not in the dark, and the soft lights, and warm glow. She know nothing is right between them, nothing is resolved, so rather than succumb to him in that moment she strengthen her resolve to do what is best for herself, so she calmly declares instead. “Go home, Jon.” 

Something in her expression or her voice spoke of sincerity, because the man she had wanted for so long finally listened to her. Jon’s throat constricted, the muscles clenching so tightly she could see it clearly in the low light of the fire. Nodding as he walked away from her, he picked up his cloak, and walked out her hut. As he did she thought, that perhaps this was the final time she was to see Jon Snow walk out of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now the next chapter will be Jon's and its broken up into three parts, then when we get back to Sansa they'll be together for another two...so we will be in FS with them for a bit. 
> 
> Now I don't approve of violence within relationships, I chose to take modern norms about such behavior out of the equation for this story...so a woman "hitting" a man would be an "acceptable behavior." 
> 
> Please let me know if you think I should change the rating...this is as "mature" as I planned to get. 
> 
> So what did you think? Its okay if you need to reread this chapter or step away from commenting for a few days :P
> 
> Until next time....


	33. Jon X (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon thinks about his reunion with Sansa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I just couldn’t move on from this night. We saw Sansa’s POV, but not all was what it seemed. Here are two people experiencing the same moment. I thought it was important to see Jon’s side of it. This was a transformative event for them that I thought it unfair to just see Sansa perspective.**
> 
> Some of you will like this chapter, and for others...I accept full responsibility for your hating Jon a little bit more.
> 
> Keep comments constructive and entertaining :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

The frigid cold air strikes Jon’s body, cloak in hand, leather jerkin undone, a wool tunic separating the wind from his flesh. The icy elements should have doused his arousal, but it hadn’t. Jon was still burning, still panting, his breaths making clouds of steam arise before him. Fire, uncontrolled and unrepressed coursed through his body. He had to force himself to walk away from Sansa. Everything inside of him wanted to pull her figure back to his, he thought if he could kiss her one more time that perhaps she would relent, but he knows her putting a halt to their behavior was the right thing to do...even if he’s damning it now. 

Jon pressed his eyes shut, trying to slow his mind and his body. But every conscious effort to relax his breathing or to lessen the force of his beating heart, just seemed to amplify how little power he had over such things. This is why he stayed away from her for so long, for he knew if he touched her that together they would be explosive...and that is exactly what had started in her chambers...an explosion. He wants to walk back in and push the issue, but he won’t...not that way. He would never force himself on a woman...period. So, Jon just stood there, her doorway just beyond his reach. He doesn’t know how much time has passed before the pounding in his ears dulls to just a feathered tremble. Now that he has better control of his mind and his body, the silence around him is exceptionally loud. Jon carefully opens his eyes; they slowly readjust to the darkness. He runs his hands over his face. Testing himself. The wind, still bitterly cold, begins to make itself known to his flesh...for now he can finally feel it. 

“I’d echo Sansa’s sentiments, but I feel like you’d heed my words less than hers.”

Jon jerked in surprise, his hand going for the hilt of his bastard sword and realizing he left his sword belt in Sansa’s room. Releasing a pent-up sigh, he turns his head towards a voice he recognized once as a friend, now the tone signals a potential foe. 

Leaning against a post, her back against the wood, arms behind her, one foot over the other. To anyone walking by she looks relaxed...welcoming even, but up close they would see what Jon does, a sadden stare with disappointment pulsating from her. Pushing away from the pole, her steps inaudible over the packed snow below her feet. Without further word, she walks past him and into Sansa’s abode. A short moment passes before said belt flew out of the fur door and onto the snow with muted thud. 

Reaching down to retrieve his possession, he can still feel the heat that leeched into the leather. Sparing one look where the Stark women resided, Jon walked to his own accommodations for the night, he thought his arrival would have him focus is sole attentions on repairing his relationship with Sansa, but now it seems he now must add salvaging what he could with the only person remaining who had always made him feel like family.

***

Jon slept very little, ever since his death at the hand of his sworn brothers, then the habit just continued as other matters replaced that...reuniting with Sansa, fighting to reclaim Winterfell, being named King in the North, preparing for the Night King, Daenerys, the battle against the dead, Kings Landing...now back to Sansa again.

During the night he recalls seeing her in the longhouse. She presented her back so all he saw was her long hair plaited, as if braiding her tresses lessened the intensity of its color. When he walked in and saw her, time just froze. The noises in the longhouse muted to a distance buzz, his vision narrowed down to just the sight of her. Jon just took her all in, the style of her hair, the straightness of her back, the tilt of her head...the sudden stillness of her posture. Jon moved towards her despite the deep anxiety her reaction to his presence invoked within. It wasn’t until he stood behind her that he noticed Arya was there as well. Before he could interrupt their meal, Sansa slammed up so quickly he had to act fast and step away from her, for if he hadn’t she would have knocked him down with the force of her body. He couldn’t categorize her movement as running, but her long legs carried her hurriedly through the hut and out the door. Jon barely caught Arya’s stoic glare, before he turned to follow Sansa. It was clear to the Free Folk, that the King Beyond the Wall was in a vat of excrement in matters concerning his Lady. The door the longhouse almost fell closed, but his hand prevented it from shutting in his face. Jon could barely make out her shape in the darkness, but that hair...caught by moonlight clued him to her whereabouts.

He called out her name, but she just kept walking away from him. With the wind’s steadily blowing, he thought it possible that she just had not heard him, so he tries again...louder this time. No acknowledgement. He knows she hears him. Jon recognizes that she does not want him here, but letting her walk away is not an option. Words remaining unsaid cannot continue...for those days are over for both of them. He might have to brace himself for her vitriol, but he will press the issue. Though the time has come for them to communicate differently with each other, he needs her attention, so he does what he always has when he feels she isn’t listening to him...he roared. It works, he thought, for she paused in mid-flight. As he gained terrain towards catching up to her, she bolted away and fled into a small hut by a clearing near the woods. 

Jon takes in the small, but clean room, furs and skins well-crafted to create a sense of _home._ This attention to detail is not lost on Jon. Sansa is making a home here. So, her first words to him shouldn’t have been surprising, but they were. _ “Why are you here?” _ A loaded question if there ever was one. His initial response clearly did not provide clarity, so he took a fortifying breath and prayed to whatever Old Gods existed this far North to hear his appeal. Jon knows that the time for honesty and full truths has arrived. He knows transparency is the only way to rescue their relationship, and he refuses to leave her without trying. He told her that he acknowledge that the patterns of his actions don’t spark trust in him, and he wants to change that. She needs to know that he came because she is important to him, that they are things they need to say to each other, and though it killed him to say the words out loud he needed her to know he came to bring her home...but maybe that last point was too late.

Sansa laughter sounded strangled...wounded...defeated. Never had Jon heard her sound this way, not even when she escaped Ramsey. She lashes out at him..._home_...all he hears is that she calls this place home and that she no longer sees him as her home...like she once had. While Jon can fully admit to loving Daenerys, he knows he could build a life with her. There is passion...a connection he quite doesn’t understand, there is love. But she had never felt like home to him...for that is what Sansa is. Even when matters of the heart muddled his feelings for these women, Sansa always felt like home. Returning to the conversation at hand, she asked him, “How am I important to you?” but she still had yet to look away from the wall...avoiding him at all cost. They couldn’t continue this way, and he told her so. “Are we going to have his conversation with you looking at a wall?” It took her a moment; he didn’t press for he knew what his presence here cost her. When he finally saw her face, his breath caught in the space between inhalation and release, and it shook him. His eyes sought the blue of hers, and once captured he could not bring himself to turn away. Eyes cataloging her face, her body...her hands, his eyes just swept over her...taking her all in. Gods how he’s missed her...he doesn’t merit finding peace in her presence, but he does. 

He loves this woman. Walking towards Sansa, his hands reach for her but he knows he no longer has that right. This knowledge doesn’t lessen his automatic response. Jon returns to the task at hand, to use words to persuade a woman well versed in the art of speech, when it is the weakest of his abilities. A sword, his hands, but words...

Wrapped in his weakness, he just speaks the truth and hopes it resonates with her. “I should not be here.” His words seem to bring her confusion, but he just continued on, hoping that if he could tell her how he honestly felt... _ “...that reminded me of what it meant to be a Stark, even though I did not have the name._ With her I began to come back to myself, she triggered those pieces of me, but she also insulated them. When he recognizes himself, he sees the fragments of her embedded within. He is not familiar with the man who exist without her, and for so long he thought that awareness was wrong for he thought her to be his sister. She does not spark in him feeling that siblings do...he cannot fit his feelings for Sansa into the mold he has for Arya or Robb...anyone he called brethren. Jon admits his reasons for fighting his feelings for her, and the revelation of his origins does not make for an instant acceptance from those who knew them to be too closely related. Armed with this knowledge his mind cannot make him stop searching for her because he loves her. Free to tell her what he has felt for so long, “After all we have done...the half-truths, omissions, silences, and...betrayals, I still know that you are worth defying the odds for.” Her eyes always searching for truth and falseness, he ceases to speak because the emotions he just revealed, while previously unspoken but recognized had been brought to light never to be hidden again. 

The ball has been placed in her court. He knows that he opened the conversation but now it is Sansa’s turn to speak her mind. He remains quiet, waiting for her words to come...and they do...the words he knew were realistic to expect but nevertheless he hoped not to hear spill forth. _“...there was a time I would have wished you would have spoken these words, words that would move me to be with you, but those days of words are gone, Jon.”_ Then her words flooded the room, each unit of sound weaponized with a subtle blade, slicing just as they were equip to do. The sting so much sweeter because before him stands a woman too hurt to maintain her typical pretense. 

_ “I understand why we couldn’t be. I do. But you just left me to handle everything...”_

_“...my family words do not end with Winter is Coming...”_

_“...we lost Rickon, but we had each other...”_

_“...So much had been lost and broken from the moment our House fell, and while you worried about the Night King...”_

_“...I had to plan for the aftermath, a conversation you never wanted to entertain...never...”_

_“All you kept telling me was that if the Night King wins, nothing matters. Then in goddamn letter, you tell me you gave away our kingdom, and in the end it did matter.”_

_“...Every time we pulled together...you just pushed me away, because your precious honor...”_

_“...In the end that didn’t even matter, all this effort to maintain your honor when the woman you chose to give it to threw it away in a fit of rage.”_

With each utterance, hindsight and his shortsightedness...her words were deserved. Especially the ones spoken at the end. Even though Jon will maintain he did the honorable thing not taking Sansa to his bed, Daenerys taught him there are other ways of losing your honor. She was right, that in the end it didn’t matter because there he stands before her...and the realm, that view him as a man who misplaced his integrity and this perception is not unwarranted.

When she spoke of forgiveness, it stung to be reminded that both of them were responsible for the damaged trust between them. When she asked if he could forgive and she said she was not sure she could, Jon needed to collect his emotions for they were scattered...angry at himself for knowing better when he knew what Sansa was capable of, angry at her for lying to him. Needing to wet his throat for this conversation required liquid libations, he tells what he has learned about his faults and the mistakes he makes in regards to her...for not communicating his intentions...ever, for he only making demands of her and presumptions that she will follow all he requires of her. This is not only his difficulty, for she doesn’t insist when he orders. Rather she backs down from his bark, and works around him, and in doing so they had created a pattern for themselves. If they had any chance of rescuing what they are, they needed to do better. My habit of pushing her opinions aside, is rooted largely in my insecurities about what she truly wants to know. 

Sansa’s laugh clearly addressed what she thought on his estimation. His words were coming out wrong. He could hear it, but once again he didn’t shy away, deflecting his thoughts because he could not form them as well and as quickly as she could. He know this part of him infuriates her...he can see it on her face, the subtle roll of her eyes, the cut gazes, tempered sighs, the rolling of her shoulders...all done every time he pauses to formulate an earnest response. Then they both let time pass without Jon telling her what he truly thinks and she makes judgements and works around her suppositions. All of this miscommunication just feels tiresome. Words are not his strength and she needed to understand that. It is not his excuse, but it is a reality they must acknowledge. 

He returns to her original question, and shares with her what he’s never told anyone else...not even Daenerys. He thinks of the day in the Godswood, when asked the Stark women to keep his secret. “I knew when you said, _ “How can I promise to keep a secret if I don’t know even know what it is?”_, that the likelihood of you keeping your word was improbable. That is why I gave Bran the leave to tell you, and not I. I thought the impending betrayal would hurt less if I wasn’t the one who actually spoke the words, but rather if it were Bran...then may haps you didn’t break my trust...not really.” When she left the Godswoods, Jon knew she was hiding from him. He knew then. It was only a matter of time, having Bran didn’t lessen the sting as he had hoped, but he still does not regret telling her. Not at all. Jon only wished he could have found her to clarify what he so awfully tried to explain. When she acknowledged her betrayal, it followed her insistence on his answer of forgiveness. Not wanting to muddle the truth of his words, he answers as candidly as he can, “I don’t think I will ever say you were right to do so, but I understand some of the reasons I gave you to break it. Maybe in the large picture of everything that has or is happening, in comparison this is something that I could move past.”

When she asks about the events in the South, when she asks about Daenerys and her betrayal...and if he could forgive the forsakenness of his honor he can feel the thin cuts on his already bruised sense of guilt and regret. A normal man would turn away from Daenerys, but he is not normal...for he has not felt that way since before his death. There are parts of him that are new, pieces of himself he has learn that set him apart. He rises in an effort to walk off the tightness in his chest, unconsciously he puts his hands in his hair looking to ground himself. Jon knows Sansa is angry, it is a living breathing giant that keeps him at bay. Wise in the art of maintaining her head and suppressing the passionate nature he knows to hover about her, Jon discerns he needs her to rage to purge her fury for if she does not...then all will be lost. Sansa will once again retreat and hide behind nice words...such as she had in her letter to him. They cannot begin to rebuild what remains of their fractured relationship until she does what she actively refrains from doing. “Peace. No. I don’t foresee any rest for me in that regard. I will spend the rest of my life reliving Kings Landing. While I supported her right to fight for the Iron Throne to defeat Cersei, the extreme tactics she used were not acceptable to me. This pushed me beyond what my..._sense of decency,_ is able to withstand.” Recognizing that no time will ever be idea, Jon considers that Sansa needs to be unrestrained in her speech, and he taps into his ability to provoke her into such a state. “_This is why we are in this situation._” 

There it was, the lift of a brow the change in the intonation of her words, and she was off. 

_ “Hmmm...no Jon, we are here because you never spoke to me.”_

No. I hadn’t.

_ “...you tried to force me to ingest this this idea that she would be a good queen when you or any of her other advisors provided no proof that she would be a good one for the North...” _

Once again...quick to deduce what it took him so long to see.

_ “That does not mean someone else’s ruler is a suitable one for all.” _

Readily clear, for he never felt like the ruler he was asked to be. _“You’re good at this...” _, he recalls her words and he remembers his dismay for he never felt as sure as she seemed to be. Looks like he was right about himself. While he went to Dragonstone to get allies for fight the dead he didn’t want the mantle of king. 

_ “Daenerys nary spoke for herself; Tyrion gave me little reason to accept her, and you gave me even less.” _

He cannot speak for Daenerys or Tyrion, but he knew that the path of least resistance was made easier when the army made entirely of corpses of the once living is baring down upon you.

_ “...not one thought to tell me how...yet you needed me to set the example for all...to be the one who followed you onto her alter of people who have bent the knee.”_

Jon was about to tell her about his insecurities that led him to his decision to bend the knee, and how he miscalculated...he was wrong. The words never left his lips for she was not done.

_... when I finally spoke with Daenerys myself at Castle Black, that it truly dawned on me that there was no plan...just a grand idea. Ideas, hopes...are not plans, they are dreams.” _

He made this connection himself, albeit too late.

_...but you never heard me...until it was too late, and even then the awareness still doesn’t matter to you.” _

Matching her in volume, his own anger at this situation and his part in the making of it. Her hurt evident and laid bare before him. Jon forces his self-loathing against her ire. “Do you want to hear you were right? Is that it Sansa?” 

Then she reacted in a way he had never seen before. She physically lashed out at him. In their history together as siblings...as more...had she ever lost such control of herself. But this is what he wanted. Her voice vengeful and strong, he wanted her anger. _“YES, I DO!” _ Anticipating another attempt, he carefully moved her arm...for though she laid her hand on him she did so in frustration and not with force that would could truly harm him. 

_“You were the one who wasn’t rational, Jon, and you made it seem like it was me just because you couldn’t handle the pressures of ruling or us.” _

I couldn’t handle the thought of us...not then, he thought, but I had real reasons for seeking Dany’s help. The dead were coming, the living weren’t enough...they needed something just as extreme as their enemy. For what could be extreme than dragon fire. How was he to know that the weapon they truly needed was an assassin nestled in the body of his little sister. Nothing about that time had followed a pattern he could anticipate for. Nothing. Jon could hear her effort to conceal the cries. Jon wants to touch her to comfort her, but he thinks to do so serves to make him feel better, for seeing her cry because she is pained, is harder for him to take. He didn’t think about the aftermath of surviving the Night King because for him surviving meant not dying, which he sees is not the same as living. There had been nothing in his life to prepare him for such a moment in time. It was unprecedented. 

_“You bent the knee when you didn’t have to. Daenerys told me she had agreed to come North to help us. Did she lie?”_

Here it was. The crux of his mistake. The public symbol of his betrayal...to her, to the North. There was no way to avoid this moment, and truthfully he didn’t want to. There was no point to not addressing what they both knew to be true. He had bent the knee, even though he was not required to, but he did so to align the North with long-term security that he unwisely believed Dany could bring. He was so tired of fighting; Daenerys’s vision could have ended a life time of battles. “No, she didn’t lie. Daenerys did agree to come,...” So, Jon tells Sansa what he believed at the time. “...but I still bent the knee to secure the alliance.” 

Not sure what to expect from her as she shook her head, she turns to him, those tears she hid leaving damp path from her eyes to her chin. Not able to refrain from touching her, when her aching is so visible to him, he tries to stop the tears as the slowly slide over her cheeks. Jon knows that Sansa uses many weapons to get what she wants in a given situation, but tears have not been the instrument of choice for the Sansa he has grown to love...for they only appear privately and at great cost to her. Much like Daenerys. This particular cost is the price he made Sansa pay on his behalf, adding another reason he stands to lose her. Focused on preventing further tears, she speaks earnestly, for Jon feels she is too exhausted to do anything but. 

_“No Jon. At that point you didn’t bend the knee. You gifted our home, our independence to your lover. Just like your father gifted my aunt a crown of blue winter roses, and the country burned for it. Your gift led to the same end.” _

He still held her face, but his fingers trembled as she compared his acts to that of his parents. Jon has found time to ruminate about his parentage, what he concluded was that they were two people who had acted with only thoughts for themselves and none for the nation they divided and almost destroyed. Leaving others to rebuild what was left of the remains. Masterful and brutally executed, laid bare for them to see...the core of Jon hubris, his denial, his stubbornness. Jon had decided for himself and for Sansa _not_ to keep the North, so he trusted Dany instead and she betrayed him, herself, and a people she swore she came to protect. Even with this knowledge, though he hates what Daenerys had done, he can’t make himself not love her. Thinking he can’t be such an outlier in this, Jon shakes his head, praying that maybe Sansa’s love for him is stronger than her disgust for this weakness in his character. Yet for every word she speaks, he feels her slipping further away.”

_“I don’t know why you’re here Jon.”_

She is not hearing me...

_“...need my mind, when it suits your purposes... Is this why you are here?”_

I need you as a man needs his woman, and that is so much more than wanting you for your help. The events in the South, and his parts in it are _NOT_ for her to address. They are his and his alone.

_“Is this why you are here?”_

_“I guess for every Targaryen male with two women in his life, one must always play the role of love and the other for duty.”_

Jon brings her head close to his, he closes his eyes to stave of the wetness that burns, touching his heads to her as though to will his true thoughts and intentions...willing her to stop. As much as Jon detest hearing his name starting with Jon and ending with Targaryen, it is an accuracy he can’t deny, but ill-suited all the same. 

_“...Dany is your Rhaenys or your Lyanna...”_

_“I am to be your Visenya...your Elia.” _

Jon feels her moving away from him, her face sad but determined. Neither Sansa nor Dany are embodiments of these women of historical note.

_ “Well I won’t be like them, Jon. I will not wait until you kill me...whether through indifference or your neglect.” _

Jon is not like his forefather, nor like the man who sired him...not at his core. Those men chronically dismissed one woman over the other until it was too late. Dire as matters are, it is not too late for Jon to change. He won’t dismiss Sansa again...not if she could find it within her to forgive him and give him another chance. But alas, he think that this is the time that The Stranger has come to claim what once was theirs. Her countenance, her words once again measured...controlled...they are saying the right things but the words to do not ring true. As she pulls one hand away he reaches for her with his other. He speaks of his inability to handle what they meant to each other. They warm each other, their bodies recognizing one another as they always had...he rest his head against hers, his eyes open so that she can see the sincerity in his expression. He tugs at her lip with a warm digit, his eyes don’t want to look away. He’s tired of always resisting her. There is no point in it. At least not the reasons that once held true before, there may be others...but the shame of them...it no longer rang true. “Sansa, I do not regret that I didn’t give in to every desire to touch you then, but that didn’t mean the love wasn’t there.” Aside from a declaration of his love, not that she was beholden to accept it, there was one more thing he owed her. “I do owe you an apology for not speaking my mind, for not giving you the chance to speak yours. If had, then maybe...” We wouldn’t have wrecked ourselves and each other. 

Sansa says nothing to his words, for really what could she say other than to repeat all the ways they had gone wrong. She changes the conversation, an ending in the works. She pulls away for him, as she speaks of Daenerys and the actual plans that have been made. In the end, Jon thinks she is right...this won’t be easy. He recognized that the summit may end before it begins, and he doesn’t blame the realm for that...for that honor sits with Daenerys, and all those that followed her...including him. He hears her attempt to speak with levity about queens and kneelers...as though she is done with the Seven Kingdoms and truly one of the Free Folk. 

The energy shifts, she enters his space, touches him gently, and asks him once again why he has come. _“...Your family waits for you. Go...go find your happiness and let me seek my own.”_

She is his family, and if his family is waiting for him...then she needs to know that he will wait for her. He’s a selfish bastard, he knows it for a better man would let her go...but he just can’t do it, for he cannot imagine a life without Sansa Stark in it. This is not the end. He will not just walk away. Not till he’s exhausted all his efforts to convince her that he does love her. Even if that’s all they have, she will know that those feelings were authentic and priceless...to him, for she brought him back to life. A person like that has a hold on another that isn’t easily forgotten, while he may have fallen in love with Daenerys...it was unexpected, even when there had been guilt he still held Sansa in his tender affections...and he still does. 

Jon’s heritage altered his world, and if this was the beginning of their end, then he would continue on with his selfish ways and take a kiss. As his lips crashed into hers his world shattered...in all the right ways. The textures of her hair...flesh...soft, the warm suppleness of her lips. He will never forget the sounds they made, between the slight whimpers and low moans, his heart pounding so hard it vibrated in his ears. Then the taste of her on the tip of his tongue and the smell that is uniquely hers all threaten to consume him. Cloaks, belts, all fell to the wayside as they tumbled on to her bed. Here they were, just as he dreamed...his hands free to touch her, Sansa above him...warm, eager, and ready to devour him with as much hunger he had for her. Then as quickly as it began it ended. “Jon, stop.” 

Not sure he heard her correctly he pulls away slightly, just in case he was wrong...in lust words spoken can go unheard. She pulls completely away from him and then he realizes she had halted their passions on purpose. Jon returns to her; he didn’t want to end this...did she really want to? He needed to look into her eyes, for Sansa’s eyes are his key into having any understanding to her feelings, when she insist on bolting her emotions for others not to read. He sees the truth in her desires. Sansa wants him, that much is clear, but she doesn’t want this with him...not in this moment, that he can tell is genuine. She tells him to go home, but he knows he can’t...not yet. Truth be told he will have to leave at some point, but he will come back for there is more they need to say, and maybe once that is done, an attempt at mending could occur...possibly. Jon uses all his strength to walk away from her, barely remembering to take his cloak as he walk out into the night.

Between the happenings with Sansa in her quarters, and encountering Arya immediately afterwards...sleep had no plans to visit Jon Snow any time soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pardon any grammatical errors. 
> 
> So do I even ask? lol
> 
> As always, I love your support :)
> 
> Until next time...


	34. Jon X (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Arya have words. Jon settles in, holding the course where Sansa is concerned. Events continue to define the extent of how his relationships have changed. He gets a bit of advice from an unexpected source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this chapter has been written for about 3 weeks now. So if you see a commonality it is just that there are people who feel the same way as I do, and we have a shared expectation for the characters to behave as they will in the story. Does that shared expectation always continue throughout the whole story...no, but I think in this chapter...it does. You'll have to read and see what I mean. I didn't want to spoil anything, so when certain comments popped up I just stayed silent, deflected with humor, or conveniently just ignored certain parts of posts...teehee...sorry.
> 
> I appreciate the passionate comments for readers. This story seems to bring up all kinds of feelings for people...both good and bad. It's humbling that you stick with it, even when it challenges your beliefs. Please know I understand, because it pushes my own. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Giving up the last vestiges of sleep, Jon decides to walk through the settlements, in hopes that activity would unwound him. He senses he is not alone, turning his head to gesture his acknowledgement of his companion. A tall magnificent creature, Ghost, will always be to him. Even with the evidence of his battle scars, the wolf has always remained faithful to him. The wolf knows _HIM_, there are no apologies, explanations or justifications...faults and all their bond is categorical. But there are some periods where Ghost needs space from Jon...and that is something Jon understands. He walks on, with Ghost rambling ahead on occasion. The early morning sun alerting Jon that he should return to the lodgings. 

“I haven’t quite decided if your decision to come here was one of the stupidest things you ever done...or the smartest?”

Before last night, the last time he saw Arya Stark, she had hugged him, and sent him on his way back to Dragonstone with Daenerys as she began the task of making sure those left behind completed the task left to them.

“Ignorant or wise? It needed to be done.”

“Did it now?” Arya’s dark eyes track his appearance, her eyebrow lifting just so. 

Jon adjust his stance, Arya taking a closer inspection of the straps on his cloak. He ignores her. “It’s not what you think.”

“It’s not what I think? What thoughts do you presume I have, Jon? I’m curious.”

“I- ” 

Quick to halt his words, she coolly pronounce. “You come where Sansa has settled, with matters being what they are in the South, add in your current domestic expansion.” Sarcasm thick, “...congratulations by the way.” Censure follows, “Then you follow Sansa to her home and exit with your clothes in disarray. Have I misunderstood your actions in any way? Have I misaligned you? Please tell me Brother, for I am so eager to be set clear on _your_ truth?”

Disappointment has fled, and Jon feels her anger now.

“I am here because despite everything that was and is, and the hurt we inflicted on each other, I still...” he shakes his head try to clear his frustration with himself that Sansa does not believe in his words...not any longer

“Tsk, tsk, tsk...you can’t even say it.” Arya shakes her head at him.

“It’s not that I can’t say it. I still love her, even if all the signs lately point that perhaps I shouldn’t.” 

“Hmmm...well you are in love with another woman are you not? And said woman is carrying your child? The same woman who went to reclaim a throne only to destroy the capital she was supposed to rule from? The people of Westeros will not trust her Jon? It doesn’t matter how twisted the political system was. Those players are gone...and if any still remain, they know better than to come out the way Daenerys did. So, in time the law of the land will go back to its usual business, and it is a place many Westerosi find comfortable. If you were smart, if she’s calm...then you should take her back to Essos. She has her kingdom there. Keep her there. Be with her there.” 

“We know the devastation we caused, and...” Jon tries to reemphasis to Arya why they need to try and help, but she interrupts him before he could finish. A trait both she and Sansa share. It’s quite maddening.

“Why do say we? Did you know she was going to take the capital that way? Did you lie to me back then?” A hint of disbelief and hurt in her voice.

Immediately taken aback, “No! I didn’t know. When the bells rang and the armies engaged, I tried to pull as many Northmen back as I could. I would not willingly be a party to this. There is no honor in that kind of battle.”

“Then if you didn’t know, and didn’t partake, then why take part of her blame? Do not be misled, Jon, you have ownness on some questionable choices...particularly when you were King in the North, but that...Kings Landing...don’t shoulder that blame with her. I’m not saying sacrifice Daenerys to the wolves, though if it were me...I probably would, but be a bit more honest with yourself and with others about your part.”

“You know better than most, after dispatching my last request, how many Northmen were to blame for what happened. They went there because I ordered it. They lost their honor, and they earned their association with the events of that day.” His conscious heavy. Knowing the way, a mind changes after battle, the time it takes to try and make yourself feel normal again. He hadn’t given his men that time before he thrusted them back into another war. While they ultimately made their decision to act dishonorably, he is responsible for pushing them to a point of no return. As a military man, he knew better. 

“Yes, I do know well. Many did, and they lost their lives for it. But many did not. They followed their King who made a ghastly error in judgement. That is your guilt to accept, but those men who maintained their dignity do not deserve to be labeled as such. 

The blinding white of the sunlight reflecting off the snow, made their darker clothes and darker features sharper in contrast to the rest of the wooded area. They just looked at each other. Jon could see Arya’s displeasure, he thought she appeared less angry and a lot more disappointed.

“Back at Winterfell, I told you that you did the right thing to bend the knee to secure Daenerys help. I still maintain that we needed her. Imagine my surprise when I learned you didn’t need to give up the North to secure her help. You lied to me Jon. I don’t ever recall a time when we ever treated each other thusly.” Arya shakes herself, looking to the side to watch Ghost amble past her. “You could have kept the North and given it to Sansa after the battle against the dead, you could have still marched South to honor your word to help Daenerys, perhaps things could have been different if the North didn’t have to acknowledge Daenerys as their Queen...maybe they could have seen her as an ally making her feel differently once she arrived in Kings Landing. I think she would have managed her expectations accordingly...an equal versus a conquering queen.”

“Aye. There are some truths to your words. I had other reasons for giving the North to Dany, and in the end I was wrong. I made a mistake, but the measure of a man...or women...is taken in how they respond to obstacles and challenges they encounter from those mistakes. This is why I just can’t leave. This is something I cannot hide from and still live with myself.”

“And what if the realm rejects you...what then? Daenerys does retain some of her army, for they could return, and she could take it all again. Let us be honest with each other, the Seven Kingdoms are too broken to wage another war...not against her...not with her dragon.” Her eyes cutting to Jon, and cold look gazed at him. “We both know it would be wrong to ask for Bran’s help again to assist with that loose end.” Eyes warming a fraction, she continues, “Westeros will die losing, and she can sit on a throne and rule a country of the dead where you can be her consort. Seems to me to be quite a very drastic approach if this was the intent all along. For you could have just let the Night King kill us all. Why fight to live when Daenerys looked satisfied with ruling the dead in Kings Landing?” His sister finds part of this situation that rubs like salt on an open wound. He worked to unify as many of the living that he could to save humanity from an inhuman threat, and in the course of less than a day, Daenerys almost undid all his efforts.

“Do you really think we should go without trying to make amends? What would stop Westeros from seeking vengeance once they strengthen? Why wait for such a time? Would it not be better to address it now? I may not know how this will all end, but at least I won’t spend the rest of my life wondering. The people of Westeros won’t have to spend their life wondering. The people of Kings Landing are owed their justice.” Jon stands before Arya. He reaches for her, placing a large palm on the back of her head, inching her head closer to his. Her Stark eyes look into his, he can see her searching...calculating...much like Sansa eyes do. “I once told Sansa I was tired of fighting...that it was all I had done since leaving home. I’m done Ayra. This is it for me. My last battle.” 

Arya rest a hand on his straps, her eyes and fingers tracing the direwolves. “Is Daenerys really worth it Jon?”

Jon rest his hand on hers, ceasing her movements, bringing her eyes back to his. “Yes, she is...and so is Sansa, Bran, you, the miller whom I’ve never met who never lived outside of the Reach, or the blacksmiths daughter in the Crownlands who doesn’t know that I exist. People are worth it, Ayra, even if at times they are unworthy.

Pulling her hand away, she begins to pace around Jon. “That sounds like the Jon I know. How do you have a sliver of optimism left for I’ll never understand?” A half-smile tugs at Jon’s lips, not sure optimism is the word to describe him. “I hate the South and for how they treated Father, so note I have no great love for the lower half of the realm. That said, I trust your queen even less than I did before. I don’t like her Jon. I never will, trust that to be true. But if you insist on remaining with her, I will try to understand that, because I still see you as my brother and I love you.” The silence after her declaration seemed amplified as Jon felt a recognizable shift in their relationship...like a window closing. “Bran has suggested I go South with you...to this summit, and while I do love you Jon, I am not sure how those feelings will be compromised once I am there. I just hope for both our sakes that whatever it is we are asked to do we can both live with the outcomes.” Jon nods in understanding, the shift clicking into place. 

“To make the summit we will have to leave in a fortnight...maybe a little after than that. Do you think you’ll have garnered Sansa’s good opinion by then?” Arya asked as she created more physical distance between them. 

“Probably not, but I still make the effort to try. I have to, and if I fail...then assuming the worst doesn’t befall me in the South, I will come back and try again.” Jon declares.

“And Daenerys, is she okay with this...you and Sansa?” Arya’s thick brow raised in hesitation. 

Jon shrugs his shoulders, “More like she is resigned to the potential.”

An eerie smirk creeps upon her face, “I do not see Sansa agreeing to such an agreement...for starters she dislikes your queen more than I do.”

Jon raises he eyes skyward, his face feeling more solemn than usual. “I know.”

“You really think your affection for her will be enough for her to say yes to you...to that sort of life, Jon.”

“What I feel for Sansa surpasses affection Arya. The feelings I have for her are often times messy, complex, and thoroughly intertwined in me...impacting every decision I make, good or bad...wise or foolish. Even when she thought I was not thinking of her, even when my actions separated us, I was...I did...think of her. I no longer know how not to.” Jon turns his head, seeing beyond the trees to the nothingness there. “I do not know if she loves me enough, Arya. I only know I love her enough to try.” He looks down, his tongue tries to wet his dry lips. “Sansa loves me, but I made her lose trust for she felt unsafe with me enough so that she left Winterfell. I was once the man who restored that for her. If she gave me another chance, then maybe I can reestablish that with her again...and perchance she could return my love like she once had before.” 

Jon let Arya judge his words that sat between them, and the younger woman seem to consider what he just shared with her. Quite a bit of time past before he could see a cool gaged countenance slid over her, she silently walked to stand in front of him...a hair breath of distance between them. She raises her head to meet his eyes, Jon finds himself trapped by her gaze, she raises her right hand...her pointer finger straight and tall as the other fingers curl into her palm. She carefully places her finger against his throat, and taps the fingertip against his throat, Jon’s swallow pushes his muscles against her digit on her third tap. Bringing herself closer, her eyes slit creating a deadly glare, “In my heart you will always be my brother, but Sansa is my true sister. Go ahead and try to make your amends with Sansa. I’ll step aside to allow you the chance to do so. But if you hurt her one more time, Jon, it will be your last...you will never have another opportunity to attempt her forgiveness again.”

Arya pulled away unaffected, the tension created gone from her figure, but it remains still in heavy contact with Jon. She begins following the path back to the longhouse, but turns back to him. “Jon!” His eyes meet hers in acknowledgement. The glare reappears. “Did you know that you can actually kill a man if you apply a solid punch right here...” She uses the same finger, the one she used to touch him, to touch the same part of her own body. “Just a bit of information to keep in mind for the future.” Her eyes return to a neutral state, as she returns to the settlement. 

Jon ponders Arya’s words, and he heard her clearly. _ I love you both. I will give you space, but tread carefully for if you fuck this up Jon Snow I will stand with Sansa and make you regret your folly._ Jon knew that the Stark women have become closer in their womanhood than they ever were as young girls. Jon smiles...bittersweet. The bitter, that he has lost the Ayra of his childhood, and now this new person is one he must share with Sansa. The sweet, finally both women had the sister they once wanted...Sansa found a fierce defender in Arya. 

Now he wonders as his eyes follow Arya down the trail, where does a man go to find a Red Wolf who is experienced at keeping herself hidden from the Snow?

***

It takes a small nudge from the fates that sent Jon in the direction of the one he seeks. Recalling a conversation with Sansa about seeking sanctuary in the Godswoods of the Red Keep affording her privacy from intruding eyes. He remembered finding himself saddened to know that she hadn’t gone to really pray, for by that point she had stopped believing in any Gods.

Heartened to see his guess materialize, sitting on a fallen tree, sat the Red Wolf of Winterfell. He watches Ghost trot up to her, sitting beside her as though he were in prayer as well. As his eyes roamed over her seated figure, he began to wonder if she was even aware of his direwolf’s presence. Jon slowly walks towards her, quiet as not to disturb her thoughts, for he will disrupt them soon enough. When he is about a body’s length from hers, Sansa raises her hand to rest it on Ghost’s neck, her gloved fingers running through his fur. 

“I should have known you would have found me or are we meeting by pure accident because it was you who came to pray to your gods.” Her voice even, if sounding a bit tired. 

“Afterwards I might find myself in need of the latter, but no, I came looking for you.”

“What more is there to be said Jon?

“There is plenty.” He nods thinking in the silence of the woods, a place where they stood before in another place, making a promise to each other. As time has passed he finds fault in his expectation that she would have held the symbolism of the tree to the same esteem, and she would have followed it. Sansa was intellectually aware of the Old Gods that most of the North still followed that religion, but she was raised in the Sevens by her Southern mother. He was a fool to assume a tree...though a strong symbol for him...had any value to her, or Arya, or Bran. In the end, he should have been enough for her to hold her tongue on the matter, but then if she had the likelihood of the Houses coming to the summit would have been non-existent. He is smart enough to recognize they are benefiting from her decision to break faith with him. His anger on this matter no longer seems to rise, a shadow of sadness lingers in its stead.

“Such as?” Sansa turns her head, eyes as blue as the cloudless sky. She looked him over before returning her gaze to the holy tree. 

He offers once again, what he should have offered before...without qualification. “Even though I had my reasons for the decisions I had made. I need you to know I made them in good faith. I made them because I thought we all could have benefitted...not just the few. Our lives had been so hard, Sansa. I thought I was making our lives safer, but I was wrong...so very wrong. I made costly mistakes. I sought advice from others, and listened to their voices, but I had not from the person and people I should have. I am not saying I still wouldn’t have gone to Dragonstone, because we did need allies, but I would have trusted in you and our people more than I had. I wouldn’t have bent the knee...not when Daenerys agree to come.”

Sansa turns her head slightly towards his direction. He could make out her eyes looking at his person. Her face expressed with uncertainty. “Oh Jon, there is nothing to be done for it now. You can’t return what you gave away. You can’t reclaim the feelings and opinions that once were, as though what has happened had not occurred. Too much time has passed for that.”

Jon walks to stand before Sansa. He crouches on his haunches, and takes her hands in his. The hands that mended him after battle, the hands that mended others. The spoil little girl he once knew would have never done that...not for him, not for anyone. That girl died a long time ago. She is not the woman before him. The leather of her gloves seemed unusually colder to him, so he raises her hands to his lips and blows into them for warmth. Her only reaction to his gesture is a momentary tilt to her lips. Jon pulls her hands away and stares directly into her eyes. “I might not be able to return what once was, in all its capacities. But I can be sorry for it, and I am sorry Sansa for how I hurt you...how I hurt us."

Sansa looks away from him, but remains seated. They remain this way for a long time. Jon feels nothings but the touch of her hands, the uncertainty of her confidence. After a while she lightly squeezes his hand. “I suppose if apologies are being given. I owe you one. When I betrayed your trust, I had my reasons for doing so as well. While I now can admit that some excuses were not as altruistic as I would have liked. Though I think I was right to share the secret, because in the end this revelation in the aftermath of Kings Landing has benefitted your cause, I did it anyway knowing how much it would hurt you. I carry guilt for that. I am sorry for that. I should not be a further source of making your life difficult.”

“As I should not be a further source for you.” Jon rubs his finger against her thumb.

“And yet you are here.” A small irritated smile graces her lips. “You complicate my world Jon Snow. I am not sure what to do with you or where to put you.”

Jon releases a private laugh to himself. He shakes his head. “Does this mean you forgive me? I mean if thoughts of what or where I should reside are on your mind, then perhaps there is still a place for me in your world.” 

Sansa cups his face, her thumb tracing the scar below his eye, a sad smile catches his gaze. “I wish we could tell each other there was nothing to forgive.”

Jon pulls her hand away and places a kiss on her gloved palm. “Aye. I wish that too.”

***

That evening the Stark women making it clear that they would have preferred _ not_ to share a meal with him. They hadn’t said it in words, but their expression were all the notice that was warranted. Jon knew his arrival forced a lot of issues and conversations. He left the sisters to have their time together not intruded by him. That was how Jon found himself eating with Hindya and the local clan leaders, and not his family.

Most people at the long table were discreet and said nothing about his distracted countenance. Finding the men walking away at some point, leaves Jon with Hindya. He makes an effort to talk with the woman, but his eyes keep seeking Sansa location. He observes how comfortable she seems to be...lighter...despite the upset his presence brings her. Sensing he’s being observed himself; he looks in the direction of the intense gaze, and he finds himself looking at Hindya. Jon thinks about the chieftain for a moment. She was a true spear wife. A hard woman, with a good dose of common sense. Something he has noticed was remised in his character in the recent year. “You love her, King Crow?” Jon was not surprise by the question, for Hindya sees much. 

“Aye. I do.”

“And you love the Dragon Queen as well?”

“Aye.” Saying it out loud just makes me sound so...Targaryen, he thinks. 

“You have chosen a hard row to hoe. I can understand the allure of trying to achieve the impossible, because in my youth I once chose my own hard row.” 

Jon find this agricultural saying oddly out of place coming from a woman who lives in a fishing community. “Yeah...and how did it work out for you? You have seemed to do well for yourself.”

“I failed. In hindsight I regret many things, but the choices I regret the most were the cost other’s had to pay for my decisions.” A faraway look gleamed in her eyes. Jon remarks to himself that he’s never noticed the grayness of her eyes. A more common eye color he has noticed the further North he travels. 

“What did you do once you realized your dreams were never to emerge?”

“I left. I thought it best for the people who still remained mine, that I limit their contact with me and my folly. Then I found peace in following a path more suited to my nature.” 

“So, are you warning me away from Sansa? Is she my folly? Perhaps Daenerys?” Jon hears his voice bristle, but he remains calm. 

Hindya arches a brow at his tone. “My warning to you Jon Snow is that you best be prepared to find a path better suited to your nature?”

“What makes you think I haven’t?”

“Hm...I stand corrected. You barely want to be the King Beyond the Wall, I take it you do want to be King of it all.”

Jon shakes his head at the thought. “No. I don’t.” He tells her what he truly wants instead. “I want to build a home with the women I love. I want a family that is mine. I want an end to the ceasesless fighting.”

“Well perhaps you have found a path better suited to your nature?” She nods over to Sansa. “Good luck with that.”

***

The next day Jon quickly made his way to Hindya place for a meeting, one she had invited him to the evening before. His plan was to find Sansa afterwards. May haps she would be grateful not to see him so soon after the previous day. Just as Jon made into the main section of the homestead, a raven perched itself on his tip of a lantern post. Jon made his way to the bird, extending his hand the bird hopped down. The animals waited patiently for Jon to remove the small scroll he saw attached to the spindly leg of the winged messenger. The bird quickly flew away, Jon’s eyes following until it was no longer in sight.

Cracking open the small seal, Jon found matters from Castle Black made their way to him. The message read: 

_Dear Jon,_

_Daenerys has reached out to me about the state of Meereen. I have written to her that the news was uncertain and tenuous. Do what you will with this information. _

_Your cousin,  
Brandon_

What does he mean uncertain and tenuous? Bloody Hell! _Do what you will with this information?”_ Is this information supposed to encourage me to return to Daenerys. Are matters that dire? There is no rational reason why Bran would tell Jon that Sansa is here, knowing everything...only to tell him this so that he would leave. _Do what you will with this information?”_ I choose to do nothing. Though I am not sure what is happening in Meereen, the current effects in Westeros are my primary concern...not Meereen. After the summit, if Daenerys must go to Meereen, then he can address that then...but for now, he will remain on his current progression for he will leave for the wall soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ideas, thoughts, speculations, what-have-you's?
> 
> Until next week :)


	35. Jon X (Part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon observes how Sansa contributes to the Frozen Shore Clan. He aggressively pursues a conversation Sansa would prefer to ignore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing :)

Seeing a couple of Hindya’s local leaders enter her dwelling, Jon followed suit. The men seemed happy to see him, and one joked about sharing a horn of goat’s milk later that night. Jon and the men’s laughter echoed loudly in the hut, drawing the attention of Hindya, a few other leaders. Unprepared to see her there, Sansa Stark’s blue eyes pinned Jon in place. Her hold released as she looked away to speak quietly with the older man seated to her right. 

“King Crow...Welcome.” Hindya grinned. Her expression very close to Arya’s...the coloring was just a bit off. 

“Just Jon, thank you very much.” He forced a smile he didn’t feel, for all he wanted to do was to order everyone to depart, leaving just him and Sansa. Instead he sat at a space at the other end of table, an angle that allowed him to tactfully see her profile. 

“So, we all know why we are here, but Jon might need more information. I shared nothing last night, just invited him to this meeting. He knows the South too; his knowledge could be helpful. Sansa, lay out this Lord Manderly’s agreement.”

Jon could see her wet her lips before she spoke. His eyes never left her lips and his ears heard every sound that she utter forth. Seems like Manderly wants to establish trade on the west of the continent. He was also interested building ships on the western side of the continent, and thought that the Frozen Shore access to the sea and heavy natural resource of trees would make for a mutually beneficial base of operations. Lord Manderly would provide the plans, and send four of his most skilled boat makers with the tools they would need. The boatbuilders will come to educate the Free Folk who want to make the ships. Once a boat is built and the Free Folk are ready to independently build the boats, the Manderly men will leave. The Lord will pay the cost of one boat in advance. They offered coin but Sansa said she thought that could negotiate for a combination of coin and supplies...as coin isn’t helpful now that winter was upon them. Materials could immediately help fortify and assist in the rebuilding of the settlement. When the weather was milder they could take that coin and purchase items, such as glasshouses, better tools...weapons. “Gathering materials from Essos should be easier for Lord Manderly for they can sail to Essos from the eastern side of the continent. They are a very wealthy house, but they are loyal. I would not tell you that if I did not mean it.” 

A lot of differing opinions bled over the table. The argument the same, do we accept help or do we remain separate. Jon heard a lot of, _“We don’t need the kneelers..._ and _ “They aren’t asking us to kneel...”_, and on it went. A sharp whistle pierced the air, silencing the dissenting voices. “What do you think, Jon?” Hindya asked.

Jon looks at Sansa, her head tilts downward as she looks down at the table before her, his eyes on her tongue as she subtly wet her lips. Jon considered what Sansa had proposed and what he knew of the Free Folk, and wondered why the hell these people wanted his opinion. Taking a fortifying breath, he speaks. “I guess it all depends of what you want for the Frozen Shore clan beyond this moment. The world is different now. You can choose to keep yourself separate from the secular world, but at some point it will always find a way to intrude. In this moment you have some control on how much access you will allow, and things are moving slow enough that you can transition at your own pace. I see no harm in allowing Manderly limited access to teach you a skill you can expand upon in your own time. Sansa seems to think you can negotiate payment. If you take them up on this, then do that. She’s right about the coin. It helps you very little in the moment, and they can get you the supplies you need. The weather has held, but we all know it’s just a matter of time. The snows can be temperamental. Its best to give yourselves the best opportunity to ensure your survival...for if you don’t, why did you come to Winterfell? Why did you fight against the dead, if it wasn’t to remain alive? Don’t squander this second chance at living.”

Jon’s eyes discerningly observed the clan leaders, Hindya and several members were nodding, other looked deep in thought, a few grumbled. Sansa though, she just looked at him for such a long time. Jon wished he knew what she was looking for. If he knew, he would try to procure it for her. Hindya’s voice pulled his attention once again. “We heard the deal, we’ve discussed this as much as we can, it’s time to decide. After another round of deliberation, Sansa was armed with stipulations to send to Lord Manderly, the biggest one is that there must be a liaison between the Frozen Shore Clan and House Manderly that is approved by the Free Folk. Manderly is to conduct business through this person, and not with the clan directly. This was the compromise, to control access into their world, which led to a unanimous vote in favor for. 

As is customary among the Free Folk, if there is a fruitful ending to negotiation the ale and goat milk make a lengthy appearance all though the night. Everyone left Hindya’s house, the woman in question turning to see that neither Jon or  
Sansa had risen. Her eyes looked between them, she nods to herself, eyes Jon one more time and walks out of her hut.

***

The tension in the quarters spoke louder than the clan leaders who left just moments before. Jon moves down several seats until he is face to face with Sansa. “Looks like you and the Clan will be very busy in the near future. I’m sure Lord Manderly will agree to your points, assuming if he wants this alliance well enough. However, he did send the proposal with you, so that is evidence itself in his serious intent. If the Free Folk are going to dip their furs into dealing with the South, then House Manderly is a gentle way to start.”

Sansa lowered eyes slowly rose to meet his. “Thank you for you words. I think they swayed a couple of the stronger dissenters.” She looked about nervously.

Jon reached for her hand, their gaze catch, he squeezes gently before pulling away. “You owe me no thanks. I just spoke the truth. The offer was sound, and it didn’t ask the Free Folk to lose their way of life...it only sought to enhancing it. They made their own decision. With or without my opinion, I think they still would have made the same decision.” 

Sansa nods, a smile slowly forms on her lips, “True. It is a good deal, and I think they would have come to the same conclusion...only not as fast as I had expected. I think Lord Manderly was becoming anxious. It will be good to tell him this new sooner rather than later.”

Not wanted to hear the silence, but rather to listen to her voice, looking for a reason to keep her talking he shared his curiosity about what items she’d like the clan see for payment. “Well Hindya knows the true deficits of the settlement, so her picture of our reality is wider than my own. I keep to my tasks, but in this matter I have been brought into these meetings, but aside from this topic I have very limited knowledge about the true situation. Barring there aren’t more pressing matters, I would recommend the glasshouses, seeds, blubs...tools for planting. Food could be less of a concern during the winters. You know me...with a good store you can outlast the longest of winters.” Jon chuckles at her sarcasm. Rarely has he heard her turn that kind of expression onto herself. 

Her smile tight and cautious, he sees that she is making an effort at casual civility. But they will never just be casual. That has never been them. Jon reasons he shouldn’t push the boundaries of this superficial courtesy, especially in light of recent events, however Jon has nothing to lose by being direct with Sansa for his previous tactic did them no great service. She left him for his lack of words, where is the harm in taking the opposite approach...both might lead to the same end, or perhaps not. 

“I guess we should go--”

“Do you still love me?”

***

“What?” Sansa rises at the same pace her eyes widen.

Rising to meet her stare. Knowing he has nothing left to lose, he restates his question. Direct and firm for there is no room to misinterpret what he means. “Do you still love me?” 

For a woman who is typically unflappable Jon found Sansa to be unsettled. He knows he has shocked her, but he thinks her reaction speaks more to the social impropriety of his suggestion and less about her own personal feelings on the matter. “We can’t speak of that? I...can’t.”

Jon looks around the empty hut, save for a furniture, furs, and them...there is no one there to witness their conversation. No time or place will ever be because this conversation is singular. So instead of planning for it, which he knows she’ll avoid, he suggest they just having it now. “Why not? You either do or you don’t. If not here, then where? Would you like to go back to your place? The woods. The beach. Where? You chose the place, and I will follow you there.” He’ll give her the choice to change the venue of this talk, but the ceasing of this conversation is not up for negotiation.

“Why do you care what I feel for you?” She walks away from the table, putting physical distance between them. Her eyes seem very focused on the rugs uses to insulate Hindya’s floor. “We will always care for each other, Jon.” Her braid falls from her shoulder as she shakes her head. “Can’t we just leave it at that?” 

“No, we can’t. I care about what you feel because I love you. Your feelings matter, and in the past if I have made you feel like they do not, please accept my apology for I was mistaken to make you feel so. Now if you don’t feel the same way about me then I need to know. Jon wants to touch her. His hand is so close to her arm, just a reach...a pull...she would be back in his embrace. He doesn’t though. Their feelings cloud their sanity enough. If this conversation is going to happen, then it must be with clear heads. “The night before felt much like love to me. Am I wrong? Am I alone in these feelings?”

Sansa places a hand against her chest, her breaths shallow to his ears. “I need air.” She walks past him and out of the house. 

Jon follows. He has seen this in her before, and the best thing he can do is not to crowd her, though his natural response is to do just that. Jon settles for following her at a short distance. The wind has become more forceful, a sign of a storm to come. Maybe nature is responding to the storm brewing between them. Like with the weather, their storm too shall pass...he only hopes they aren’t decimated once it is over. Both their hair are swept by the air, Jon loses his strap, his hair now covering his eyes. Still he follows her. Sansa makes her way to the harbor. Her steps hurried as she makes her way down a long dock. 

Once she’s made it to the end she quickly turns to him, and yells, “You are mad. Is this the famed Targaryen insanity bleeding through, Jon? You love me, yet you have another woman a fortnight worth of travel away...and she is pregnant with your child!!!”

“Aye. I say the words out loud and I hear the arguments that should shame me, yet they do not. Perhaps a certain kind of lunacy has caught me. I do not know nor do I care to inspect further on it...for I do not think knowing if I am crazy will change my feelings either way. It doesn’t alter that I love you and that you are essential to me. All I need to know is how you feel, even with that knowledge you just spoke of. Do you still love me?”

“It doesn’t matter--” She says, her voice competing against the sound of the wind. 

“Yes, it does!” He refuses to dismiss her feelings, his head shaking in disagreement. 

“Do you plan to leave her Jon? Are you willing to walk away from your child?” Her eyes wide, horror at his potential answer barely concealed. 

“Is that what you are asking of me?” Jon knew the request to walk away from Daenerys and their child would be predictable. He would not assume that is what she will ask him until he hears the words slip from her lips. No more assumptions. 

Sansa turns her head. She looks past the sea, her chest heaving as it is wont to do when her passions are unrestrained. Turning her head back to him, she takes a deep breath and stares at him, making some judgement and calculating her next utterance. “Wouldn’t Daenerys ask the same?

Jon knows this answer. “No. She wouldn’t.” He knows Daenerys has her own reservations and insecurities about the three of them, but she has not given him cause to think they are not issues she can’t surpass. 

A subtle flinch was all he saw as Sansa now remains frozen before him. He can see the gears working in her mind. What she is thinking of exactly he would not presume to supposition. There are matters she is digesting that are apart from what they are speaking of. He can hear it in her voice, for it sounds very...suspicious. 

“You’ve discussed this with her already? So, you have her permission I take it. Is that why you are here?” The wariness continues, as she raises her brow in response to her own questions.

Jon sighs, now seeing why Sansa’s demeanor had changed. He wished it could have been avoided, but why should she not feel as she does. He only provided very little insight into his conversation with Daenerys about Sansa...about them. “I have told her how I feel about you. I told her all she should have known from the beginning. It seems as though keeping silent isn’t a poor pattern solely doled out on you.” Her expression changed, a pursed pinch of her lips indicating her lack of surprise. “Then I told her I was going to find you. I left so much unsaid, Sansa, how could you think I would not come back.”

Jon is now an arm’s length away from Sansa. If he can’t touch her yet, then proximity would have to do. “I made sure she was...safe...” An awkward silence follows, but he continues on, “Then I left for Winterfell, but you were gone. I returned to Castle Black to find you had left there as well.” 

A dark chuckle bubbles out when he thinks of Brandon’s words. He unintentionally startles Sansa, so he explains himself. “Bran was the one to tell me where you had gone. Evidently he knew your final destination but chose not to tell me. Looks like he gave me a morsel of a clue as to your whereabouts, and left me to discover the rest.” He can smell a delicate scent of lemons. He had smelled it in her hut...so slight an odor he thought he had imagined it. Such a smell should not exist this far North and not during Winter. He knows it her, with the same awareness that he knows he’s spent all his time since Kings Landing trying to get to her. Truth be told he could have gone back to Essos with Daenerys, they could have remained on Dragonstone...or they could have gone to the Pike, and returned for the summit. But he insisted on the North because Sansa was there. In that moment Jon hears Bran’s word in the Godswood, _ “even in my worst moment I knew to ask for...”_ Without knowing it, Jon had done the same...against all odds he still sought Sansa.

Bracing himself for the impacts of her reaction, he resumes his side of the conversation. “Daenerys cannot give me permission to be with you, any more than you can give me permission to be with her. The power you have, is to choose whether you want to be with me...as I am.” Some small shard of shame that still remains in him brought color to his face, for he could feel it. The thoughts run through him, _she has every reason to stay away and not enough reasons to stay with you Snow._

“To share you.” Her voice dubious. 

“Aye Sansa.” He take another deep breath before he continued. “You could walk away. Maybe you will stop loving me in time...maybe you won’t. I know I won’t stop feeling the way I do for you, and even if you turn me away, you will still remain ever present. That should not sway you, for this choice is your own.” The man who wants her to be only his has to compromise with the man who cannot ask that of her. Pushing the words past the boulder lodged in his throat, he stares directly at her, imploring her to hear his sincerity. “But if there could be a chance that you would still love me, even if you took another, do you think that maybe that might be enough to try.”

“Jon this is outrageous even for you.” She pushes past him as she begins to pace the length of the plank. “Alright say I accept that you love me, that you love Daenerys, how do we make that work?” She stopped in front of him, face close to his, he could have licked at her lips. “You shunned me for the feelings you had when you thought I was your half-sister, but now you are ready to stand in front of the world as you lay claim to two women.” She resumed her pacing, arms and hands gesturing excessively. “When one of those women destroyed the Capital of the realm. I will admit I bare very little love for the South, but even I know we can’t just run away and hide, not in the Seven Kingdoms.” Once again she stood before him, eyes blazing with fire barely banked as she glared at him. “I may no longer feel right in Winterfell, but I will _not_ go to Essos. I will not leave the continent because you and her are no longer welcomed on it.”

Thinking it safe, or perhaps not caring anymore, he cups her face in his palm. His heated gaze penetrates into hers, Sansa’s strong body flush and leaning lightly against his own. Her breath blending with his. “I know it is, but I’ve lived with lunacy since I died, San. I know I am asking for the impossible. I don’t want to live whatever is left of my life without trying to have you in it. I am selfish, I know this. You deserve better, I am aware of that as well. All the reasons for you to turn me out are in your court, but I pray you do not. Nevertheless, I stand before you. I have told you what I need. It’s you. I want to try to build a life with you. Now if there is a chance of us, I need to know what you need and want from me.”

His eyes take in every small expression that ripples over her face. The sharp intensity of her eyes and give way to a frosted stare, a heavy breath that expands her chest...pushing her torso further into his, the tightened drawing of her mouth...the licking of her lips. There is resistance and resignation in her demeanor, and Jon does not know what side will out will the other. For there is no easy response this woman could give, but if she can see the possibilities for him and her...then that is more than he ever though he would receive. 

Resting his head against hers, she places her hands gently on his wrist...an affectionate touch. A sad smile slips away, “I don’t know Jon. I need to think about this.”

Jon knows not all is right but Sansa has not dismissed him completely and he will accept that as a small concession. Nodding in acknowledgement of her words, his hands dropping to her waist, holding her just so. Sansa looks down at his chest, to the straps on his cloak...the one she made for him some time ago, and she lays her head on his shoulder. There they were, the wind blowing, sky darkening, and from a distance all that could be seen were two people locked in an overdue tender embrace. A long time had passed, for the winds had finally died down. Sansa lifts her head, their eyes drawn to one another once again. Jon smiles at her, grateful for this moment...regardless of what is to come. Sansa presses her cool lips against the edge of his mouth, her breath a warm caress, just before she turned and walked away from him. Like that moment in the Godswood, Jon Snow watched Sansa Stark walk away, and once again he found his heart soar and tumble...and he prayed that this time he wouldn’t lose her for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this we head back to Castle Black...let's see what Daenerys is up to, shall we?
> 
> So I plan to continue with my original post of 3 chapters per week. My goal is to focus on writing the summit, which will be 3 chapters. I have completed the first draft of this event. These chapter might be longer than usual, but they won't be broken into parts. Once the summit is done that will conclude that plot. I will write two endings as epilogues, one will be my original and one will be an alternative. You can choose to read both or the ending your prefer. 
> 
> Since my head needs to be in the summit I might not reply as often as I do, but please know I am reading your comments and I am thankful that you take the time to write. 
> 
> Happy reading!


	36. Daenerys X (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visitors from Kings Landing arrived to Castle Black. Daenerys faces her past to plan for a future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A sennight has passed since Daenerys received the letter from Brandon Stark. The aftermath of his missive left Dany in such a dark state, not darkness as in _’fire and blood’_, but rather in overwhelming desolation and regret. Thinking that her path to queendom was not anything she initially sought, she did embrace this mantle once it was passed to her. Her quest for the Iron Thorne was now hers and every accomplishment brought her closer to that goal. While she can now admit to herself that she wanted to return to Westeros, and that her reasons for doing so spoke more to her sense that she should be Queen because of her family history and her desire to make those who destroyed her house pay for their actions, it does not mean that in certain parts of her journey she was not true in her motives to help those enslaved against their will. She lost her way...and many are paying the cost for it. 

As the days change she ponders going back to Meereen. Once again she was stuck on the mechanics of how. She could leave with her remaining Unsullied, but how would she get to Essos. Dany has had no communication with Yara and once again the North would not give her a boat...she is lucky if the North and the rest of Westeros will allow her to birth her child. Daenerys feels caged and she doesn’t see any options. These longs moons of isolation have taken their toll on her sanity. She needs Jon to come back. He is what she needs right now, but atlas he is gone, and she is alone. Knowing that moving forward Jon can’t always be that for her, that he should serve as a strength and not a weakness, Dany thinks about what she can do once he returns instead of wasting in melancholy as she is now. 

Just as Dany tries to keep down a small bite of bread, she hears the horns announcing the incoming of riders to the keep. Her first thought was perhaps Jon had come back. She quickly dismissed it when she thought about the state of the man when he last left Castle Black...determined he was. It matter naught, if it were Jon he no doubt would stay only as long as he had to before he left to try and find Sansa Stark. Walking out into the midday sun, Daenerys stood on the landing nearest her door. She watched as the first of the riders entered. Tears began to rise, burning her eyes. Dressed in reinforced black leather...Torgo Nudho had arrived. Her heart skipped and then warmed. Seeing her friend come brought her a bit of balm in an otherwise stormy situation. Following behind were Ser Davos Seaworth and...Tyrion Lannister.

All sense of the previous propriety aside, Dany marches up to Torgo, arms extended, she hugs him. The man was surprised, she could feel it in the stillness of his body. After a marginal delay, his arms wrapped around her and they hugged, as the lost friends they were. “I missed you old friend.” She whispered in his ear. The man ever silent nodded in agreement. “It is good to be back with you, My Queen.” The small woman looked into her commander’s face and told him “Just Daenerys, Torgo.” His face, typically implacable towards the outside world, seemed confused by her declaration.

Pulling apart she turns her attention to Ser Davos. “Jon will be disappointed to have missed your arrival good Ser.” The weathered man, nodded in acknowledgment. “That’s quite alright Queen Daenerys. We figured when we arrived to Winterfell and Bran told us Jon had been there about a moon’s turn ago. He eluded that Jon would be heading North in regards to some...domestic matters.” A slight blush and stammer from the older man creating a mixed type of tension. Thinking it best to dispel any unnecessary curiosities, she shared Jon’s whereabouts with the men before her. “Yes, he’s been gone about a fortnight. He had headed into the Free Folk territory, where Sansa Stark currently resides with--.”

“Sansa Stark is living with the Free Folk? Beyond-the-Wall?” The short man standing to Davos’s side exclaimed in surprise, cutting off her previous remark. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself to look at Tyrion before replying. “Yes. Sansa had stopped here before moving on with the Frozen Shore clan. They left here about a moon’s turn ago. Jon has traveled to find her.”

“He has left you alone, Daenerys?” Torgo’s voice defensive in tone. “Yes, but not unprotected, Torgo. I am well secured here. The Free Folk have very little love or care for the South. My actions have not moved them to act against me for they truly could allow the Seven Kingdom to go as a gift to The Stranger. I am safe here. We are safer here than we would have been in Winterfell. The hardened military man soften slightly, gesturing his understanding. Besides I knew at some point Jon and I would have to diverge in our journey. All is well in that regard, Torgo. Do not think on it any further.”

“Yes, aside from taking you off this continent, which would probably have been the best idea, coming here was not a bad option. With the Night’s Watch disbanded, and the Free Folk with their predilections about the Seven Kingdoms in residence, he was right in his thinking. Another intrepid thought from the new King...interesting.” Tyrion’s eyes boring into hers. A shade of bitterness glinting in his eyes.

Daenerys thinks about the time she and Jon has spent together...from the first moment she saw him until now, and she thinks Tyrion might be very surprised by how much Jon has changed. She doesn’t think the Stark...the North...can be completely taken out of the man, but Targaryen he is proving to be in matters of the heart. A Targaryen entitlement she had never seen before, until he learned of his parentage. For it takes a certain kind of character to even say he wants two women, let alone pursue it with the relentlessness that he has. Another Targaryen on a quest, she thinks.

“As I was saying, Jon has gone to see Sansa. Barring unforeseen occurrences during his journey, he intends to arrive before we must leave for the Riverlands.”

“Well bloody hell, more Southerners! I thought ya were happier living on your side of the wall.” Tormund boomed from behind her, jolting her a bit. Lord, the man is so loud, but welcoming...in his way.

“I’m afraid we must impose you on a little bit longer, Tormund.” Daenerys told the big man. 

“We brought some provisions to share, we hope that might make this unexpected barging a bit more palatable.” Tyrion shared. 

The Free Folk leader seemed a bit unsure. His blue eyes wide, head cocked to the side. “He means we brought food, thinking you’d rather have that then us showing up to eat your food.” Ser Davos translated. Understanding bloomed on Tormund’s face. “Well damn man why didn’t ya say so? I’ll show ya where you can settle while ya here.”

“I’ll leave you to it. Please find me in Jon’s old quarters. There is much to discuss.” Daenerys leaves the men to their activities and walks back to the lift. Perhaps some time looking North will aid in settling the thoughts that have renewed the plaguing of her mind.

***

As the wind begins to pick up the lowering sun tells Dany she has been on this wall most of the afternoon. As she makes her way back, she sees Ser Davos coming her way. Surprised to see the man, but thinking that perhaps she shouldn’t have been. She had learned from Jon that it was Ser Davos who had proposed a marriage alliance between her and Jon, an honorable man and a just woman...well until she changed that. Watching the man walk up to her with forced effort, she wonders how he must feel now.

“Ser Davos.”

“Queen Daenerys.”

They both begin walking together. “Not Queen. I seem to have lost that title long ago. Just Daenerys will suffice.” 

The older man walks with both hands behind his back, gentle eyes on her. “You might not be the queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but correct me if I am wrong, you are a queen somewhere else, aye?”

Dany smiles at his inquiry. “I used to be, but I haven’t been in a long time...not since I left my kingdom. Being queen means more than just having the title Ser. There is a duty that comes with the responsibility, one that I have neglected for a long time. So no, I stand to my previous correction. Addressing me as Daenerys will do just fine.”

He nods in acknowledgement. “Aye...Daenerys.” 

Wondering what brought the quiet man up to the top of the wall instead of resting, she asks “What brings you up here? Too crowded below.”

He raises a brow. “You can tell, huh.” 

Daenerys finds herself laughing at his expression. “Yes. Jon likes to escape up here when his world becomes too loud. It’s a good place. He has the right of it there.”

“Is that all he’s right about?” Ser Davos asked, his voice pensive. 

“Hmmm...do you mean to speak of his decision to go to Sansa? Do you still see me as a better choice? After everything that has occurred.” She wonders aloud.

Clearing his voice and stopping to look her in the eyes, he tells her, “Better choice, no. Please excuse my directness, but there was a time I would have. There was a time I did. Sansa Stark was not an option for Jon. Hell we thought she is sister...half-sister, but sister nonetheless. I could see the way he looked at her. I’m not that blind. At times he could be blinded by her willful ways. At times she worked around him. I wonder, now that she is not his sister, if I still think she would not be a good match for him.” 

Curious as to Davos’s opinion she encourages him to continue. “And what do you now think?”

“I think that Sansa at times had cause to be guarded around Jon. I think he had cause to be wary of her.” 

“And me?” She leads.

With a doubtful expression, he quietly tells her, “I think they both have sound reasons to be distrustful of you.”

Silence. The resume their walk.

“I think you were right. Once upon a time, we could have been that...an Honorable Man and a Just Woman. For Jon is still honorable, I am not just...not really.” 

Shaking his head. “I beg to differ on that account. Just ask the Northerners we traveled to Winterfell with. They do not see Jon as honorable any longer...not as they once had. They think him a Northern Fool for making them follow you.” 

“They do approve of Sansa still, perhaps she can help the Northerners feel differently about Jon. She may not have love for me, but she does still love Jon...even if she’s resistant to that knowledge.”

“Aye, they still respect her. Is that why Jon went to her? Is he trying to get her support for the summit?” The man’s voice perked with interest by the idea.

Daenerys had to stop mid-step and laugh. The kind where she rested her hands on her stomach. It might have sounded like a deranged laughter, if Davos’s expression was an indication. Slowing down to a chuckle she enlightens Jon’s advisor. “No. Jon is with Sansa because he wants her. He loves her...needs her.”

Davos rests a hand on her shoulder. His gaze is so very kind. “Daenerys my eyes aren’t completely faulty. The man loves you. After you slaughter a city...because that is what you did...he took you away to keep you safe. The rest of the world will tell him to turn his back on you, he has cause to do so, but he hasn’t. Why? It’s because that is a man who loves you.”

She knows this about Jon. Dany pats Davos’s hand. “Yes he does...you are right. But I am not all he loves. Are you telling me he never looked at Sansa Stark that way? I saw it the very first moment I laid my eyes on them locked in a simple hug. His body relaxing in a way I had not seen before...even when he was laxed with me. I could see it at every war council meeting...how he made a point never to look at her, yet they always stood beside each other. 

Davos pulls his hand away as he chuckles. “I told Jon that once. Even in times of discord they always seem together...like a unit.

Daenerys and Davos share a smile of shared understanding.

“After that battle, after finally reaching Bran to find him safe with Arya, I learned from my people that Jon could be seen running furiously to the crypts. Missandei told me once the doors had been opened, he ran in as people ran out. Only stopping when he found her, pulling her into his arms. I was told it was so desperate, so personal, that she had to look away...for she felt she was intruding on an intimate moment. Then the night of the feast, the way his body turned into hers...though he was perched on a table and she in a chair...there always seems to be a tether that bounds them in the most unusual way. So yes Ser Davos, Jon loves me...I know he does, despite all I have done his choice to be with _me_ is not something I doubt any longer. I am just more aware that I am not all he needs, and he means to do something about that.”

“Are you telling me he’s looking to have two—wives?”

“Yes. If she is willing.”

“Looks like you’re willing...but not surprising you are a Targaryen...but Sansa would never agree. Never.” He shook his head resolutely. 

This time Daenerys laughed alone. “Hmmmm...she seems to think so too. But remember your own words Ser.....I am not sure that Jon has severed their ties, though he has come damn close. I think she loves him too much to let him go.”

“You think...but the Seven Kingdoms may not allow this.”

“They have before...in an age of dragons. Now they have returned so quite possibly the tradition of multiple wives might return too. Even if the Seven Kingdom refuses, well she’s not in the Seven Kingdom now is she. We don’t have to stay here to have what we want.” She leans over the ledge looking into the True North. “And as for Sansa letting him go...there is something in her eyes.”

“Her eyes?”

“Yes...it’s a look I’ve seen before. One I have recognized countless times...on me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have very strong feelings about Davos. As a character on the show, I liked him but to me he is a survivalist and an opportunist, much like Tyrion, Varys, and Baelish. As long as I could see him that way he was palatable. 
> 
> Davos hitched his boat to Stannis...even though the man chopped his fingers off and he hated the Lord of Light religion. He didn't walk away because he enjoyed the rise in status Stannis provided. Now when Stannis's star was fading he hitched himself to Jon. He was Jon's hand in a short amount of time...a man of trust and influence on a new leader...a King this time. 
> 
> I think when Davos saw Dany he saw the potential to be elevated even more. He was the one to make suggestive comments about them on Dragonstone and approached the idea of a marriage with her advisors. What he should have done on Dragonstone should have been to remind Jon of his commitment to his people...to make sure if he did pursue Dany it wasn't romantically drive. He didn't and I think that was because he saw the chance to be in a position of even more affluence as the King Consort of the Seven Kingdoms...and possibly move further into Dany's camp and away from Jon. Also, Davos had no cultural/historical connection to the North, so he had no stake in maintaining the North independence...a dangerous man to the king and the realm...he had no purpose to have allegiance to Jon or the North. Which he had demonstrated with Stannis. 
> 
> Also Davos didn't really trust Sansa...especially after the Knights of the Vale. Also Sansa's northern-centric way of thinking would threaten his rise, should Jon begin to truly listen to her. 
> 
> I don't think Davos is destructive like Baelish...more like a Tyrion. Where Tyrion is "smart", Davos is "honest'...both men seen as having some kind of moral integrity. However in the end, they really do look out for themselves and end up on top (in a way.)
> 
> Now in my story that interpretation carries over, so my Davos has a soft spot for Dany, but he has associated himself with her destroying all the upward momentum he had made since meeting Stannis. He doesn't care for Sansa because she is a threat to his elevation...and in my story, Sansa knows it...which is why she doesn't care for him either. Both will be cordial towards each other but leery. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter...in the next part Dany has a moment with Tyrion and one with Turgo Nudho.


	37. Daenerys X (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visitors from Kings Landing arrived to Castle Black. Daenerys faces her past to plan for a future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always remember to keep comments constructive. It's appreciated by all...the author and by others who enjoy reading the comments. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Daenerys spend some time in her rooms, after her conversation with Ser Davos she began to think about the _ Just_ woman he once saw in her. Here was a man who had recently met her, and she had him believing in her cause...and as quickly as she had earned his allegiance, she had lost it. A pattern of inconsistent loyalty towards the end seems to be her pattern. She now considers the shift against her as stemming from her own inconsistent behaviors rather than this sudden shift in alliance. These thoughts have her reconsidering her final days with Tyrion, a betrayal she felt most keenly, but perhaps he felt as blindsided by her as well. She glances at the letter she received from Brandon Stark, and thinks it is time she called the man who was once her most trusted advisor...her Hand. 

A short time after she has sent for him she hears a knock at her door. “Come in.” Looking at the fire, she finds it hard to lay her eyes on the large man with a short stature. She knows he betrayed her for his own selfish reasons...to save his precious brother, and his sister, the one he professed to want to destroy. However, she knows that his decision to step down as her Hand is rooted in her betrayal when she ignored the bells. Two wrongs, with no sense of rightness to be felt. Does it do anyone any good in holding onto the betrayal when so much damage has been done and there is so much that needs to be addressed in this moment. As the uncomfortable silence stretches, he speaks first. “While I am a small man, that pit is rather small for you to do anything close to the type of damage you are used to inflicting...especially when you choose to burn a man alive.”

Ah so the man, true to form, looks to deflect the uncomfortableness of their meeting with...dark humor. “Do you think you have done something to warrant a burning Tyrion?” 

The short man shrugs in response. “Perhaps, but while I acknowledge the warrant it does not mean I want to see it fulfilled.”

Gesturing to beckon him closer, “Come, sit. We have much to discuss.” She passes the letter to Tyrion. He looks cautiously between her and the missive in her hand. She turns her gaze on her rounded waist, stroking her belly as though she is touching her child without a barrier of flesh. She gives him to time to think about what the missive means. 

Tyrion clears his throat; he rubs a finger over his upper lip...an action she was used to seeing when he was in thought. “Well, I am disappointed to read that things had not progressed as we had planned, it seems as though the country still holds, though not as you had envisioned it. The goal was always for you to come to Westeros, was it not. In Meereen, the longer we were there the more upheaval we had. I thought if you were ever going to make it here, then you just would have to leave. No time would ever be a good time to leave your people. You knew that. We all knew that.”

Daenerys was not surprised by his reply, but no less disappointed, she sighs her dismay. “I could have stayed to manage the elections—”

Tyrion shook his head. “And when the people revolted...masters and slaves, what would you have done? Stayed until you brought peace and tried again.”

“Yes!” She turns to him, eyes burning in frustration and indignation. 

With a gentle but firm voice, Tyrion quietly says, “Daenerys there can never be true peace when it is forced upon you...not when rage for injustices true or perceived fester below the surface. Fear of your dragons kept upraises to a minimum. You have to know this.”

She closes her eyes shut, trying to stall the tears she feels are ready to fall. “It would have been my fate regardless, wouldn’t it? Essos, Westeros...people yield for fear, only for fear.”

“Those with a black heart, yes. But you had people who yielded because they were tired and wanted something better than the life they had.” 

Daenerys scoffs, “And I left those people. Those people do not exist here in Westeros.”

“I wouldn’t say that completely, but the days of speculating on whether the realm would have eventually followed you are over.” His eyes wary and thoughtful.

“I must agree with you on this point.”

“May I ask what you have planned?” His eyes boring into hers.

She sends him a sardonic expression, eyebrow cocked. “You may ask, but I may not divulge all until Jon has returned.”

Her former Hand gestures in acknowledgment of her words. “Yes. Snow. I heard a rumor that he has gone beyond the wall in search of Sansa Stark. Is that correct?”

Not wanting to share this part of her life with Tyrion, she purses her lips, and nods. “That rumor is correct.”

She feels his calculating gaze measuring her. “It is also said he is looking to take her to wife.”

“I imagine he means to.” She continues to stroke her babe, such a soothing action for her. 

“As well as keeping faith with you?” His voice sounding dubious. She nods. “That man is wasting no time in claiming that part of his heritage. Though in all honesty if I had to choose a Targaryen quality, I too would choose to have more than one wife...should I find myself searching for one again...but then again I haven’t been so fortunate in that regard.”

Her eyes roll without permission. “Yes, I could see you selecting such a predilection.”

Tyrion tilts his head to the side, observing her as he is wont to do. “I’m curious to know, does it bother you? You have no love for Sansa Stark, you have clearly one-upped her being with child, why do you allow him this pursuit.”

A laugh bubbles out of Daenerys. “The Jon Snow you once knew is very different than the one who bent the knee. He is not cruel, but he is not passive. He will pursue her regardless of what I say. All I can control is my choice to stay or leave.”

“And your choice is to stay?” She notices his look of confusion...brows lowered. 

“Yes...I stay knowing that may entail another woman. I also choose to stay for the summit, knowing that things will most likely not end well for me.”

“Then why remain here?”

“For love, duty, and honor...” She laughs at the Tully house words. “The love I bare for Jon and our child. The duty I failed to carry, and must try to amend. The honor I lost, and must try to regain. This just does not stand for Westeros, but for Meereen as well.” She looks to him, hoping he understands. 

The man stands up and walks to lean against the wall near the fireplace. Eyes on her. “I’m moved, truly, but this level of selflessness is not the Daenerys Targaryen I know. What has brought this new way of thinking?”

Daenerys feels the formation of a sad smile on her lips. “I’ve spent a lot of time up here, Tyrion. People have come and gone...sharing their..._thoughts_. Then they all leave and I am left with my opinions which find their way into an internal deliberation...until a new way of rationalizing emerges.”

“So, basically you had time to think?” He deduces.

“Correct. If only I knew long bouts of solitude was what I needed.” Her smile feeling more genuine. 

Tyrion scoffed. “You never would have had that in Meereen...nor in Westeros.”

She nods in agreement. “Would it be disappointing if I said I like the quiet?”

“No. It wouldn’t.” A gentle smile forms on his face. “You’ve never known a life of quiet, therefore you could never conceive the power in it. Its why I am a lover of books...and the silence the hobby brings me.”

“I think I could give up almost everything, if I could keep the quiet. I think it’s a good place for me. But the summit draws near.” Her violet eyes fill with concern.

“Yes, it does. It won’t be pretty...barely civil. You can leave now, and find your...quiet.” Tyrion suggests. 

Declining the idea with a shake of her head, she explains, “I have learned that in solitude silence can be destroyed by guilt and shame, for they follow you regardless. That would remain, Tyrion. In order to have the quiet I want; I must stay and see this to the end.”

They stare at each other for a time, until Tyrion nods in understanding, and quietly walks out the door.

***

In the evening, Daenerys gave Tyrion and Davos leave to find their meals with the other residents of Castle Black, for she wanted some privacy to speak with Torgo Nudho.

“I am glad you are alive and that you have come back to me.” Daenerys leans over to speak to her friend. 

“I will always come back to you My Queen. I’ve always been loyal to you and I always will be.” The commander leans in response to her. 

Daenerys reaches out to grasp his hand, calloused from years of handling weaponry and hard labor. She studies it and wonders if he feels any guilt for how these hands slaughtered at her demand. Has he been conflicted about his acts as Jon had been? Did her longtime friend feel a loss of honor?

“You are loyal...ever faithful.” She nods, squeezing his hand, taking in his concerned stare. “Daenerys, what is wrong?”

“Many years ago, I went to Astapor and I took possession of the Unsullied for an army. That was my primary goal, but once there I had decided it would be better to surround myself around people who were willing to fight for me.”

“I remember it clearly. It is an unforgettable moment when you are granted a wish that was once beaten out of you. You said, _ “Unsullied! You have been slaves all your life. Today I give you freedom. Any man who wishes to leave may leave, and no one will harm him. I give you my word. Will you fight for me? As free men?”_ I chose my path Daenerys. I chose you.”

“Did you? Why?”

“You sought to free slaves, what better purpose to use my skills than towards such a cause.” Seeming confused by her train of thought.

“But I fell Torgo. I fell away from that quest. It became something else...something twisted. Tyrion saw it, Varys,...Jon too.” She tells him...her voice firm and resolute.

Clearly upset by her words, his jaw clenching before he replies. “Do not look to those disloyal men as examples of---”

“Why not?” She interrupts, rises and begins to pace the room. “I have had a lot of time to think about my past, how I started my journey and how it has all played out, and there is something to be said in their defense. I went from freeing people to putting a different kind of collar on them.”

“Queen Daenerys that is not an accurate account of what has happened. You can’t—” he persist. 

“But it is. In Slaver’s Bay I freed slaves, people in true slavery. Those people wanted their freedom and they fought with me without my having to ask them...and I didn’t ask them. They were willing because they wanted help...and when I came with my dragons...that is what I was able to be for them. They called Queen...they named me Mhysa. I did not seek out that honor, no, it was bestowed upon me.” Dany sits beside her faithful solider. “By the time I had arrived here, I had allied myself with two associates who before they lost something of value, lived in privilege without much thought about anyone else. One house wanted revenge against Cersei for the decimation of her direct line, and the other who in the bitterness of losing her lover, who killed the brother of my good-sister. A woman who lost her life because my own brother’s follies. These were the people who were willing to support me...such a small number for such selfish reasons. Looking back Yara Greyjoy is the only ally I had that does not bring me shame.”

“Daenerys?” Torgo Nudho holds her hand in his own. 

“My friend, I went from a place of doing what was right because it was the just thing to do, and being given the title and respect of Queen to demanding it. The people of Westeros needed my help, but that was all. They didn’t want my rule...and looking back now, I can say that it is acceptable for them to have felt that way.”

“But they owe you for your sacrifice. You did not have to help them.”

“True, I did not have to help them, but isn’t that what I have always done without repayment. Isn’t that what I did for you? Why should I view helping Missandei, you and the Unsullied differently? What happened to me that I could not offer the same expectation to a continent as I gave you...that no matter what _no one will harm him_.” Dany could see a battle waging underneath the depths of his dark eyes. “I changed Torgo Nudho. I did...and not it a good way, my friend. Others saw it, and spoke up about it...some louder than others, but they had and I ignored them. Somewhere I stopped being a good queen.”

“What do you plan to do now?” He speaks quietly...thoughtfully.

“I plan to go to the summit. I think I can keep my head at the end of it all...or at least my child’s life. The Seven Kingdoms have seen their limits pushed by the Last Targaryen. This road ends for us here. My name will die with me, and that no longer feels like a sad thing. What are your plans?”

The dark-skinned man sends her a confused stare. “What do you mean? I stay with you. You are my Queen.”

“But not a good one. You have lost much because of me. Do not let me be the reason you lose more.”

“I stand with you. Many years ago, you gave me a choice. I still stand by it. I am your man, Daenerys Targaryen.”

She finds herself rubbing her belly, thinking about his words, thinking about Missandei and Meereen. “Do you think we can still do good...to help people who want to be free.”

“Yes. I do.”

“Very well. Then after the summit I want you to go to Meereen. I will send you as my Regent. You will bring to life the dream you fought for. The one we envisioned once.”

“No. I stay with you.” He grips her hand tightly.

“You just said you stand with me, and that you were my man. Is this not true?” He nods begrudgingly. She smiles at him...such a human response from a man who was taught as a child to suppress everything human. He is such a testament to Missandei’s love and care, this is why he is the man to go back. “Then as your Queen. Please promise me you will go back and complete what we left undone. Make Meereen your own...make it your home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after this chapter we have 2 parts to Sansa's...then things will pick up quickly...back to 1 chapter per POV. Though warning those summit POV's will be longer chapters than I usually post. I am done with Jon's POV at the summit and I'm about to begin Dany's POV. I have had my head stuck in there. I will try to get to the comments this weekend. 
> 
> Thank you for the support. It's always appreciated. 
> 
> Until next time...


	38. Sansa X (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Jon rediscover who they are in the aftermath of Kings Landing. Arya attempts to help Sansa reconcile her feelings in order to move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the unpleasant troll IllShowYouBrave...as promised. Seriously people, move on and get a life. It boggles my mind that people find enjoyment looking to start conflict where is doesn't really have to exist. But to each their own, right. 
> 
> Remember to keep comments positive and constructive. If you choose not to, then may you enjoy your name tied to a fic you dislike :) Since the next chapter will be dedicated to you!
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Sansa didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts right now, because if she sought solitude she would march herself right back to Jon and seek the comfort she has wanted for a long time. Giving in to that feeling would only bring temporary relief, and would serve to cloud a very muddled situation. As he says the words to her, the idea that she would share a man sounds absolutely ludicrous, and add that the woman she would have to share him with is Daenerys Targaryen. Sansa finds an empty spot beside her sister, who is sitting across from Hindya, two dark heads of different shades, bent in conversation. They both look up to see her dropping down on to the bench. 

“Well, shit. You look like you could use this more than I do.” Arya passes her cup of ale to her sister. Sansa consumes it down in three swallows. The two women hike up their right brow, they exchange a look..._it truly is eerie how much they look alike_, Sansa thought. 

“Sorry.” She apologized. Her eyes looking for something more potent. “Have you seen the goat’s milk?”

“Hmmm...I was gonna make my way to prying about you and King Crow, but if you’re looking for the goat’s milk then prying won’t be necessary.” Hindya holler’s for a pitcher of the wicked brew. 

Sansa reaches for those parts of herself that provide her the comfort of shutting others out. The external appearance that keeps people at a distance from her. Accepting a glass of the strong swill, she proceeds to drink Jon Snow out of her mind. Not sure of how much time has passed, the longhouse seems less crowded than it had been before, she spies Jon sitting with a couple of the men who attended today’s meeting. She has no need to see his face, for she can feel the burn of his gaze upon her. Sansa finds increasing difficulty in keeping her eyes open. Something Arya notices. “Ready to retire for the evening?” Sansa sloppily smiles at her sister, the muscles in her face no longer in her control. She barely speaks her response without slurring. “Good evening, Hindya.” Sansa slides off the bench, her sister’s hand firm against the back of her cloak. 

The two women enter Sansa’s lodgings. Arya reignites the fire, heating the room slowly, while Sansa fills two cups with water. The sisters sit by the fire, gathering warmth as they wait for the room to heat as well. Emotions compete to stand in the forefront of Sansa’s mind, and she just can’t make it stop. Blessed Hell! Please stop thinking, Sansa. Please stop thinking. So, caught up in the anxiety of making her brain stop, she doesn’t feel the tears that have begun to fall. It wasn’t until she felt a gentle hand on her hers, that she could hear Arya’s voice gently say, “It’s okay Sansa. Let it go, Sister.”

Sansa couldn’t control it. The sobs tore through her, leaving her privacy uncovered, for there was no doubt what was occurring in the small space. She held the back of her hands against her lips as the cries began to subside. Her eyes meet Arya’s knowing ones. Sansa begins to shake her head, to ward off any words either women could say in this moment. Arya pulls her head down, their noses a hairsbreadth apart, “Whatever you decided, Sansa, I will understand. We are the only She-Wolves that remain. We are pack, Sansa. I will not turn away from you, never again.”

Sansa hadn’t known how much she needed her sister...in this moment, in this way. Sansa wrapped her arms around Arya, resting her head on her sister’s shoulder. They stayed this way long after the tears have subsided. Quietly she hears Arya measured question. “You spoke with Jon?” Sansa still can’t speak, so she nods her head against her sister. “He told you what he needs?” Sansa squeezes her eyes shut, and repeats the physical gesture once again. “Do you love him?” She releases one trembling sigh as she signals an affirmation. “Do you love him enough?” 

That answer isn’t hard for her to admit in the isolation of her mind, but to echo that sentiment to another makes it real when it shouldn’t be. She pulls away from her sister, Tully blue meeting Stark gray, both seeing too much. “It’s okay Sansa. It’s okay to want to be happy. However, to really be happy, you must know what you need to maintain such as state.” 

“I don’t know what I need. I know what I want...but wants are fleeting desires.” It stings Sansa’s pride to admit such things to her sister, for she is the Stark that so many people have turned to expecting the solutions to all their concerns. However, when it comes to her own challenges she finds it difficult to answer her own call.

Ayra tilted her head, her eyes taking on a cautious expression, “Do you want to know...what you need?”

Sansa sniff, wiping her nose with one of the few handkerchiefs she had recently made, with a design that makes her think of home. Eyes downcast, she really thought hard about her sister’s question. The warmth of the fire making it safe for her to remove her cloak and outer jacket. Answer in hand, she looks at Arya who waited with a strange look upon her face. “Yes. I do.”

Arya releases a smirk that if Sansa had seen in their childhood would have had her running for the Septa. “I know a game that can help with that.”

“A game?” Sansa was unsure about this. How would a game help her to decide what to do about Jon...and his request?

“Yes, a game. I learned it years ago, and before you dismiss it, let me just say it helped me to learn what I needed for myself.” Arya cleared her voice. 

Sansa sensed her sister didn’t want to elaborate and she thought it well enough not to push. She knows Arya led a very different life from her after their father’s death. “What did you need?”

A wide smile broke across Arya’s face. “I needed to remind myself that _I am Arya Stark of Winterfell..._” The younger woman shrugged her shoulders, “_...and I needed to come home_.”

That reply made Sansa’s face break into an identical smile. Arya held out her hands, waiting for Sansa to place hers in her sister’s palms. With that smirk firmly in place and a quirked brow, Arya queried “Shall we play?”

***

The next day Sansa found she needed some distance from the settlement or rather from Jon and Arya. She didn’t need nor want to hunt, but her dried wood supply was dwindling. Taking her basket, she begins a trek into the woods. Sansa wasn’t in any shape to speak with Jon. She made no decisions on him one way or another. The game Arya proposed was unusual. A large part of Sansa is mortified to know her sister is now privy to so much information about Sansa wants and needs...from Jon. After the “game” ended, she went to bed, but sleep refused to come. She laid on her side to stare at the wall, while her sister laid on her back...gaze on the roof. Both breathing too hard to be anything but awake. Had her revelations shocked Arya that much. Is she judging her? Of course, she is as any other sane person would!

Sansa saw several short thick branches that she could transport and dry out once she returned. Knowing she can’t avoid the streams of thoughts that push their ways to the forefront of her mind, Sansa finds a downed trunk and hops up to take a rest. Falling into a prone position, eyes staring into the blue sky, she bends her knees...her head, back, and booted feet in touch with the surface of the old dead tree. 

In the tranquility of the woods, flashes of the previous evening bled through.

“Do you need a man?”

“Need. No. At once point I had thought I did...but not anymore. I do not need a man.”

“Why not?”

“Need means I cannot live without having. I am here without a man, living quite well. So, no...I do not _need_ a man. Also, a man no longer means security to me...it hasn’t for a long while.”

“Do you want a man?”

Sansa blushes at her sister’s matter-of-factness on such a topic. She proceeds to answer as best as she can, pushing past her own discomforts that are beginning to arise. “I do not know.”

_SLAP_ Sansa gasps, stupefied that her sister struck her...albeit it was just her hands, but still.

“Let’s try this again. I can recognize when you are being truthful or deceitful...even if it is only to yourself. Do you want a man?”

Biting her lip, she is embarrassed to admit that she does want someone to build and share a life with. After all she’s been through, most would probably guess she’d stay away from any and all men. Hell, sometimes she feels that way. She knows she is no longer like most women. She is peculiar when it comes to men. Only a specific kind will do, for this she knows. “Yes, I do...but not just any man. I want a good man.”

“You have known many men?

“Yes.” Sansa lowers her eyes, again shame rises. 

Eyes laser sharp on hers, not a hint of judgment to be seen in the gray orbs, Arya continues. “Some men are good and some men are bad. Can you tell the difference?”

“Not at first, when I was younger, but now...Yes, I can.”

“What is the difference?”

“Good men make the right choices. Bad men do not.” 

A hard slap hits the softest part of Sansa’s wrist. “Ouch, Arya.” 

Unmoved Ayra continues. “Try again. What is the difference?”

Swallowing deeply, she tries again. “Good men know what is right and they live by that righteousness. Bad men know what is right and insist on doing the opposite.”

Stunned that her sister hit her again, anger seeping in. “Ayra! Stop!”

Her voice even and steady, Arya asserts, “If you want me to stop then stop saying what you think I want to hear or what you are hoping to be true.”

Silence. Conflicted between slapping her sister silly and saying what she really feels, Sansa remains quiet. She thinks of the men she would say were good...Father, Robb, Tyrion, then she thinks who were bad and can see a contrast between such individuals...Joffrey, Sandor, Petyr, Jamie, Ramsey, Theon. What did she know of them? What sets them apart from each other?

_Father: He was worked hard to do the right thing by his family, his people, his king...but he lied about Jon’s parentage to the same people where implied honesty was assumed. _

_Robb: Had fought to avenge the death of our father, and rebelled the North into reclaiming their independence. But in the end he left her defenseless in the South while he was surrounded by a certain type of safety, until he married a woman he shouldn’t have...not when he gave his word that he would marry another. _

_Tyrion: Despite the twisted cruelty he suffered at the hands of Tywin and Cersei as a child, it never seem to let up when he became a man. Through it all his kindness towards others was effortless and unexpected. _

_Joffrey: Corrupted to his soul, never one to think of others but only the pleasures he sought for himself. A cruel boy, fooling no one, and ambivalent about that awareness._

_Sandor: A violent man with a violent past, he saved her from being brutally raped by a gang of men...he knew the dangers that the Red Keep held for her and he tried to get her away from it during the battle of the Blackwater. After is desertion of Kings Landing we found her sister, and kept her save until they went their separate ways._

_Petyr: Determined to bring chaos to everyone. All in an effort to be the puller of the strings making him the true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Using everyone as a pawn...even her. But he did get her away from the Lannisters, he did bring the Vale. While she may hate him for selling her name to the Bolton’s, they were things he did which benefited others...as well as himself._

_Jamie: There was a man who lived his life wearing the moniker of his greatest dishonorable deed...Kingslayer. He killed for his family, a tool to maintain the harnessed power of the Lannisters...for that is what he was when he came for her father. However true, he did keep his word to Catelyn Stark...he sent Brienne to find her and bring her home. He gave Brienne half of the Stark family sword in service to protect Sansa and her sister._

_Ramsey: A god of evil incarnate, the most depraved of the deities disguised as a man, a lover of the perverse and devotee of brutality. No redemption can be found in such a soulless creature. _

_Theon: Angry and bitter about his lot to live as a ward of House Stark, he betrayed the family that took him, deceived the people who had trusted him. Like a snake waiting out the thaw of the summer snows, he struck when the wolves felt safe...and he brought down what was left of the Stark stronghold with that venomous bite. Yet, he suffered under Ramsey, in ways even she had not. Though it took him time to find his courage, he did, and he helped her...he got her as far away as he could knowing that capture meant guaranteed death for him. How could a sacrifice as such not been seen in isolation as a good thing?_

Looking her sister in the eyes, Sansa begins again, “Good men are not perfect, they are flawed, just as bad men are. There are no absolutes in goodness and badness...just a scale. While there are some men who enjoy the benefits of remaining true to each extreme, that is not true for most men. While there is a general place they may naturally fall on a line; they tend not to deviate to far from that range. Where a man stands on that continuum can slide to either end at any time given any situation.”

Arya nods once. “Is Jon a good man?”

In a hushed voice she replies, “Yes.”

“If men have the capacity for good and bad, then where does Jon naturally lie on the scale.”

Sansa finds it difficult to answer this question in relation to Jon. Arya and Jon have always been close...a bonded pair. Will she understand Sansa’s rationale? Does Arya’s current anger towards Jon color what she once thought of her brother? Should that effect Sansa’s response. The peace she had been hoping for now seems farther from her grasps.

She takes in a deep breath, feeling her chest tremble as she exhales. “He normally lies in the middle, with a heavy lean towards good faith. That is where he is most comfortable.” Surprised by her own answer, Sansa stills. If anyone had asked her if they thought Jon was a good man, she would have given an unequivocal blinded YES. She would not have thought of his flaws...his humanness. Her answer would be an extreme without taking into account those same traits that make him behave in ways she cannot understand because in her mind good is right, and she has the capacity to be willfully blind towards though she loves. It isn’t that Jon couldn’t still be _good_ with her newfound awareness, but she thinks that perhaps she has held him to a marker that no man could ever meet, for it is not a realistic benchmark. 

Pondering thoughts about the men she has loved and lost, and she realized it was time to remove them from the pedestal she had placed them on. Many years ago, she needed them to live in that place for her own sanity, but times are different. She can let those ghosts lie where they belong...in human frailty...and that includes Jon.

“Do you love Jon?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Are you in love with Jon?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Do you believe Jon when he says he loves you?”

Sansa pauses, breaking the speed of her previous speech. “Yes.”

“Why did you hesitate?”

“He loves Daenerys too.”

“And that bother you?”

“Of course, it bothers me. He tells me he love me and in the same breath admits that he loves another...someone I might add who is already with child.”

“What bothers you more, the fact that he allowed himself to find love with another when he thought you half-siblings or the fact that she is carrying his child?

“I know I shouldn’t be angry with him for being open to the opportunity to have a love that wasn’t a sin. For it pains me to permit, he was not wrong in that regard. Insensitive in not warning me, perhaps, but not wrong. We shouldn’t have loved as we had...as we still do. Now things are different. We can be open in our desires for each other, but she is pregnant. He chose to create a child with her. I can’t unknow that, Arya.”

“Do you know if they planned this child?”

“No, but it doesn’t matter, the child is coming. Ouch!”

“You don’t know if he planned a family. Yes, the child is a fact, and while he may not find regret in the child, that does not mean he purposely made that decision. If Jon was made to choose, and he chose you...would you despise the child? Would you be your mother’s daughter?”

Sansa blanched, “I wouldn’t treat his child as mother once treated Jon. My feelings on that point changed long before we learned about his parents. I couldn’t do what she did.”

“So, it seems it is not the child that is the issue. Is it Daenerys?”

“There are so many parts of me that hate her, Arya. She is demanding, entitled, and narrowminded to the point that it brings detriment on unprecedented levels. But we had our conversations at the wall, I have also heard her speak of her time in Slaver’s Bay. She can have compassion and understanding towards those who suffer. I think Daenerys wants to stay involved in the crusade she has found herself on, and to me that represents a kind of chaos...a bedlam I want to distance myself from. How can I keep this distance if Jon wants me near?”

“If maintaining a kind of peace was what you needed and Jon were flexible on this point, would you consider exploring your relationship? No guarantees, just an exploration.”

“No promises.” Sansa considers this, pushing doubts aside if she had freedom to walk away. “Just a discovery period to see if this was something I could accept beyond conjecture...then I think I might be cautiously open to attempt.”

“Then it’s time to rest, Sister, for tomorrow I leave you to do what you do best.”

“What is that?”

“Figuring out the practicalities...for you do that much better than I ever could.”

A bird flies past her vantage point, and as she lays there returned to the present, Sansa begins the arduous task of deciding setting her limits to bring to Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is an FYI update on where I am in the writing process.
> 
> I am currently writing the summit. It is broken into 3 chapters...it moves through the POV's of the 3 main characters. I have finished Jon and Dany's POV's. All I have left is Sansa's to write. The political plot of the story ends there. I will have 2 epilogues. The original and an alternate. Currently I have written 1/3 of the original epilogue. The alternative epilogue is already written. 
> 
> Sooooo if I can find myself in a writing upcycle this weekend, I might be able to finish Sansa's POV and complete the rest of the original epilogue. 
> 
> If I can do that, then I will post the rest of the story frequently. The epilogues will both be posted on the same day. 
> 
> We might be done before the end of the month...just in time for the holidays. 
> 
> I will post Sansa's part 2 on Sunday. 
> 
> Thank you for the support...we are almost to the end...I can see the light!!!


	39. Sansa X (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa gives Jon her decision. The sister’s discuss their past and Arya’s plans for the future. Sansa and Jon discuss the possibilities that might arise from the summit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have been in hiding mode for a bit trying to knock out the end of the story. The distance has paid off and I have finished the first draft on the last chapter (Sansa's POV)...OMG, I can't believe it's almost done. 
> 
> I just need to revise that chapter and complete the rest of the original epilogue (1/3 of it is already written). 
> 
> Disclaimers: Please keep comments constructive...and I own nothing.

It has been a sennight since she and Jon had spoken. In that time, she hasn’t gone out of her way to ignore him completely, for they have shared meals with Arya and other friends she has made in her time here. He had gone on hunts with her, his surprise of her skill as an archer was just as funny to witness as it had been to see Arya’s. Though he was less incredulous and prouder of her accomplishment. They had even spoken of the trade routes Manderly wants to begin on both the eastern and western sides of the continent. Words had been spoken, but she has made it clear that she was not ready to further discuss his proposal, and he didn’t push...though she knows it was at the forefront of his mind. His eyes told her...always so telling. Even when they were not together she can always tell when he has found her, his eyes hot and stormy, branding her as they have for a very long time. 

Once again Jon brings to her a big picture, but very little in the ways of mechanics. So, it’s time to talk. She heard there was a large hut that could have served as a base of operations for Manderly’s men. Near the beach, but not far from the settlement itself. Deciding to check on the viability of the dwelling, she asked Jon if he’d like to join her. Ghost chaperones from a distance. The large beast at times herding her towards Jon. The wild animal doing a poor job of masking his intent. Shaking her head at the last nudge, she looks to Jon. His expression says he is clearly aware of his wolf’s antics. “Seems Ghost has very strong opinions.” His efforts not to smile evident as he uses a lot of energy not to smile.”

“Not amusing Jon.” Her voice droll to even her own ears.

“I am not making him act as such. Though I do not dislike his motivations. In fact, they work in my best interest truth be told.” That smile she loves, but he rarely shows shining through. 

Sansa tears her eyes away from his face. The closeness, while real, it is temporary...she knows they both know this, for if they do not speak now then he will leave and they will not have any resolution. She needs that. She cannot let him leave without saying what she needs to say. Podrick’s voice rings through her head, _“there is something to be said for letting all your feelings out. Say what you need him to hear so that you don’t spend the rest of your life wishing you had said something after all.”_

Taking a deep breath, she tears open the scab that had begun to grow since the night at the harbor. “I’ve thought a lot Jon about what you said. I’ve heard your words, and I admit they move my heart...” Jon stops walking, his hand reaching to grasp her arm, stopping them both. Looking into his face she continues. “...but my head gives me all the reasons why the idea of us, and that of you and her, should die here and now.” His hand doesn’t let go, but he gaze does soften. 

“The rational argument is the strongest, yes. Even I am aware of that, though I could see how you might not see that by my current actions. Knowing I should stay away from you Sansa, I find my heart doesn’t want to. Yes, we can make ourselves act accordingly, and walk away, but will it matter if we can’t make our hearts match our minds. To hell with the opinions of others. All it does is add unnecessary challenges we don’t need to have, if we three are willing to try?” His body parallel to hers, but not touching, their gazes intent.

She tells him that her biggest fear is that she will always be a secondary thought. “How can I trust that you would value us equally? With Daenerys you gave her our home, and while now I begrudgingly recognize the reasons you hadn’t shared with me then, you had made grand gestures at my expense, Jon. It was a price that I didn’t deserve to pay. Not when you had other options. Not when you could have made different choices.” She looks around trying to find the right words to say. “Jon, I don’t want to demand equity from you if it means your engaging in disingenuous acts, the desire for that seems like such a departure from the person I’ve become. That superficial girl who thrived on empty words and actions has long died and there is no need to resurrect her. What kind of relationship could thrive when one person might constantly diminish another...making them feel lesser? What of children? What of the realm? The Free Folk would not care, but the Seven Kingdoms...” Sansa didn’t know if Jon could make it acceptable once again. If he could, did she want to be under that kind of Southern scrutiny once again. She didn’t think so. There were so many unknowns. 

The sincerity in his eyes pull her in just as closely as his hands could. “I can give you words Sansa, the words I sincerely mean, but you will not find security in them until I live them. Until the fidelity in them are tested. Understand that if you give this relationship a try, I am aware that should I fall short then you will leave me, and whatever final chance we had will have been lost. I have lost you once before to my stupidity Sansa, I cannot...will not make such mistakes again. Especially in light of experiencing what the alternative path would feel like without you on it.” 

Sansa’s eyes are drawn to his lip as he wets them before continuing. “Just as I have changed in my directness towards you, I have changed with Daenerys as well. She and I are not as we once were...as you remembered in Winterfell. I am not that man any longer. My thoughts pray that I haven’t broken us so completely that there is nothing left to repair. This next phase requires an act of faith and trust, both which I know are in low supply between us. But still I persist because I believe we still have enough faith to try one more time.”

Sansa agrees with his declaration that his newfound commitment requires testing and only experience will create the opportunity for that. Holding her love that still resides for him in her heart, she take her chance, and shares all her qualifiers and limits. Jon seems intent on cataloging her concerns, needs, and wants. They ask questions, they make adjustments, and at the end Jon is willing to meet her terms to _try._

At this point they have made it to the small house, situated by the sea. There are many spaces that could fit four men to live, but there seems to be space to allow for an office. The space needs to be furnished and there are some repairs to be made on the roof, but the walls seem solid. Sort of like them, Sansa thinks. “You know this conversation, while preliminary, it’s not complete.”

“I know. We need to speak. The three of us.” 

“I am not ready to go back South, not yet. I have no plan to go to the summit. That is something you must address on your own.”

“And once it is done. When an understanding is met, regardless of the favor, what then?”

“Then we have _that_ conversation, and make another decision.”

Without asking permission, Jon’s hand snakes around her neck, bringing her head close to his, and without reservation kisses her. It did not feel like a farewell. Still unsure of how this will all come to be in the end, for now Sansa felt a little bit of hope blossom in her chest when she recognized that the kiss felt sure...it felt like home.

***

Over the course of several days Sansa has found herself in many conversations with Jon. It has been good to have Arya close by, someone she can trust to help her process all these ranges of emotion, even if she is just there to listen most times. On clear day she suggest to her sister that they go for a walk.

Sansa thinks of the time she has spent with Arya. The sisters had many meaningful talks in the almost moon Arya had been with her at Frozen Shore. They talked about their childhood. Sansa apologizing for being such a poor excuse for an older sister, mean and unkind most of the time. Arya tried to justify the times as they were. Sansa their mother’s favored daughter and Arya the one who just could not conform. “There is truth to that. There was a tone that was set, but I was still asked to be kind Arya...and I chose not to be. For that I am sorry, because I know that Jayne and I were relentless much of the time.”

“I had my revenge. It didn’t help my cause, while I did not enjoy the harsh words, I did relish my retribution. Your attacks private, mine for all the world to see. In truth, we seem to operate much the same way now as we did then, I would say. We’ve just refined our tactics to a finer art.” The dark-haired woman chuckled darkly, Sansa finding a dark humor in her sisters estimation. 

As the women make their way into the forest, they can hear Ghost following along. “Do you think Ghost will go South with Jon?”

“Perhaps as far as the Neck, but with Winter here the South might be cold enough for him to travel further.”

“Hmmm. The South is no place for a direwolf, you know.”

“Ghost will do as he pleases. He always has.”

“True.”

Taking in a deep breath, the cold freezing the air inside her nose, and warming it up as she breaths out. “So, what about you?

“What about me? Arya voice sounding a bit distracted.

“You have a history of doing as you please? What would please you next?”

Her sisters laugh echoes in the woods. “I want to go on another voyage. Though I would never admit that the way I left Westeros was all I ever wanted, I did love the freedom of being unencumbered by my station. I miss the discovery of it all.”

Having gone on a journey of her own, she can see the allure for her sister. “Indefinitely?”

“No. I have family again, and its growing. I want to be a part of that...in my own way.”

“Do you think you will have a family of your own?”

“No. That’s not me. I’m not meant to be a Lady. That was all you.”

“That is not me anymore. Especially now. Do you think things with Gendry might--?”

Sounding a bit exasperated with Sansa, “You my sister will always be a Lady. As for me, I don’t want that life, Sansa.”

Not wanting to push her sister away, and appreciative of her support, she wants to return that esteem in turn. So, Sansa tempers her next response. “Well perhaps you will do as I have...and try to figure out what you need. When the time is right you can see if there is someone out there who needs that too.”

“Now you sound like Hindya.”

“Hindya?” That surprised Sansa, though it should not. 

“Yes. She asked me if I had someone waiting for me. It led to a conversation about her past. Seems like she lost her husband a long time ago...her child too. She told me after the loss of her husband she had to figure out what she needed. Once she knew she said she’s crafted her life to suit her desires. So, she never remarried or had any more children. It was refreshing to hear another woman tell me that not all women are made for marriage or raising children.” Ayra concluded with a smirk in Sansa’s direction.

Sansa ignores her sister’s pointed look. The air begins to change, it feels crisper to Sansa. She thinks that snow may be on its way. When she decided to go beyond the wall, she knew that staying with Tormund would have been a sounder idea, but there was something about Hindya that drew Sansa. Perhaps she fed Sansa’s inner need for an older woman in her life. Though she knows her mother was biased in her love and compassion, she was her mother...and Sansa knew her love and missed it. “There is something about her. A female clan chieftain, no male to defer to. I was drawn to her at Winterfell. On some level she reminds me of you, if you had graying hair, and you were about twenty years older, and slightly taller.” 

“Not likely. It’s too bloody cold for me to stay here as long as she has.” Arya boisterous snigger seemingly louder than it truly was made both women freeze, hoping they hadn’t been heard. Sharing a look before bursting out in shared silliness, a freeness not felt in so many years. They walk on.

***

The time had come, as she knew it would. It is the eve before Jon and Arya were to depart. She tries not to focus on that, but the inevitable is evident. Bags packed...familiar possessions tucked away for the journey, and come morning all physical signs of their presence will be gone. The energy in the air, a part of their time with her, will serve as an imprint...all to remain until that one day it will leave too. At least for a time. Since agreeing to commit to _“trying”_, she found many more conversations to be had, and she thought it best to speak them privately.

On this night her sister was feeling unwell, and with a journey to begin at dawn, Sansa suggest that Ayra rest undisturbed. That led her to Jon’s accommodations. It was a good thing, because once again their words pulled her through so many emotions. Things she thought she understood as truth, were unraveled by his perspective, and by the look on his face her words had done the same to him. 

“How are we so cross-purpose at time, yet always a unit, even in times of disagreement?” He muses after their recent row.

“What?” She huffed out in exasperation. 

“Something Davos said to me once. He said even in times of anger and disappointment towards each other, we have always seemed a pair...a unit...even in discord. While fractious to the rest of the world, we never let anyone come between us.”

Sansa purses her lips at hearing Ser Davos’s name. She always had reservation about the man that Jon had chosen as his..._Hand._ “That once may have been true. But there is Daenerys now. I do not say that to bring an argument. It is just a fact. The visible sign that something had changed.” 

“Aye. That was on me, not you. While I love her,” It hurt Sansa a little bit less to hear him say these words. “...I never meant for this to happen. I never meant to hurt you.” Yes, she believes him, she does, but the realities are what they must now deal in. At the time they all moved with the information they had regarding his parentage, but by the time the truth had been revealed she was hurt and they are irrevocably changed. Never could she have imagined things could change, so why would he...even if both of them wanted it to be so. 

“I know, Jon.” She cups his face, feeling his beard tickle her palm. 

“I understand the day might come where I sit where you are, and while I do not rejoice in it, I know it may come and I will try my best to not make that difficult for you.” A pinched expression covered his face. He says the words, he would follow them...she believes. Nevertheless, she is not that woman. Though it serves not to tell him of that. It is good to know she has the choice to leave should she desire a solitary love, but she won’t search for that if she tied herself to Jon. If it is not enough for her, then she’ll leave long before she decides to find another. Sansa thinks to keep that information to herself for there is no need to address what might never move beyond a trial. 

Not wanting to integrate herself in matters that occurred in Kings Landing, she is clever enough to know the outcome of the summit will impact how far forward they could realistically move. She has heard Daenerys’s position and her anticipated conclusions, but she has yet to ask Jon what he thinks the results will yield. Sitting by the fire, she begins a tentative conversation. “I know you head South soon. Daenerys and I have spoken about her expectation for this summit. But can I ask you, what do _you_ think will happen?”

As Sansa sits with her arms wrapped around her legs, her head resting on her knees, she looks to him. He faces her, seated with his own legs spread, his bent forearms resting on his bent knees. Less than an arm’s length divides them, the conversation held in hushed tones, it felt intimate and familiar...though the topic was anything but. 

“I think there will be a fair turnout for the Houses. My estimate is that most will want our heads at worst...and Daenerys’s at least.” His eyes held onto hers until Sansa averted her gaze. She had come to a similar estimation. “Perhaps Tyrion’s head as well.”

“Yours?” she whispers, feeling her eyes sting with the thought. 

“I bloody hope not. Though I did not plan for the events in Kings Landing to happen, I did march my army South. I can’t sit here and think there is no consequence for that.”

“Perhaps exile...like the Targaryen loyalist that left after Robert’s Rebellion.” She thinks out loud.

“Whatever it is, exile or death, I must prepare for it, San...” His hand reaches for hers, head rising and body shifting as he pulls her to sit closer to him. He puts in face in her hair, breathing deeply. “How do you still manage to smell like lemons? It’s faint, but it’s there.” he muses aloud. 

Sansa pulls her head away to look at his face. “Focus, Jon!” She can tell he is trying to take her mind off the worst-case scenario, but she can’t help but worry because together or apart she loves him enough to see him survive this. “Dried lemon satchels and lemon oil. I keep the small bags with my clothes and I use the oils to impart the smells when they dull. Now will you return to the conversation at hand.”

“What else is there to prepare for? If they determine death, then it will come. I can’t physically defend myself against a realm on my own. If it’s not my time, then I imagine we will see the followers of the Red God return. If it is, then this is it. I will take my share of the blame, for it is mine.”

“If you think they’d take Daenerys’s head, and subsequently kill your child, then why make her stay?” Thinking dark thoughts that couldn’t have bypassed Jon’s awareness. Not understand his calmness she begins to adjust herself away from his hold.

“I think the aid that Daenerys can provide from Essos will help stave off such a result...for both her and I. Winter is here, and it is still expected to be hard. The continent doesn’t have enough food to subsist on. They will need help. She can help them. My experiences have shown me a pattern of behavior among the living.”

His reply placed her more at ease. A sensible rationale. Her own experience with the poor in Kings Landing, when they underwent food shortages it almost led to a revolution. Its smart for them to offer, for food will always bring the best and worst out of people. Curious about the pattern he found, she asked, “Pray tell, which was?” 

Tugging her back into his embrace, he spoke...his voice solemn. “We all do what we need to survive...it’s human nature. I think the Lords and Ladies who remain will do the same to ensure their outcomes.”

Sansa feels Jon’s heat pressing against her back, she wants to lean into it, but to do so may muddle her mind and she needs it to be as sharp as it ever was. “What if they didn’t execute or exile you? What if you could be king once again? I mean Daenerys is not an option as queen, not after her actions in the South, but maybe you...”

“No San...” He interrupts her, his voice hard, but his endearment gentle. “I didn’t feel equip to rule the North. I feel even less prepared to rule an even larger kingdom. I am not fit for it. I know you think I can be good at this but there are valid reasons for me to never hold such authority again. I will trust myself and hold firm to those reasons.”

“You are a leader Jon. You have been integral to our survival. No one understood the threat the Night King posed. You did! I still think you could be of some use, if we were to--”

“So are you, Sansa.” He interrupts, his voice tense. “Are you looking to go back to the politics of Westeros?”

Immediately halted, she shakes her head. Listening...understanding what he his saying. He does not want to be King. The idea saddens her a bit, because together...before he left for Dragonstone, together they had been a sound partnership for the North. As it stands the North no longer has its sovereignty, it would not matter for she does not want to lead it again. Accepting that, she replies. “No. I think the trade routes is as far as I will go.”

“I feel, if I survive this, I want...I need a simpler life. Growing up I never thought I would have a family...not one of my own making. Not with children of my own blood.” His thumb rubs against finger, a kiss to the side of her head. “I thought the Wall was my destiny...not a home. If the Gods see it fit to grant me a third chance at life, then I would like to live it for the first time. I want to build a home away from it all. I want to stay there...with my family.”

Sansa does not turn to look at him. She considers his words. Home and family. She wants that as well. Turning her body slightly, still remaining between his legs, Sansa looks at Jon. She takes in his features, his hair, the scar by his eye, the thickness of his beard...which needs a trim, his lips, his posture...reconciled. Before her is a man who has said his piece. A man ready to face the consequences of his actions, and knowing that he has left nothing unsaid...at least not untoward her. Rising up slightly she runs her fingers into his beard, Sansa presses her lips against his, she takes a kiss and prays that it will not be the last one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bracing myself for impact...lol. Sansa made her choice and it might not read the way you might have expected. I don't think a fairytale _ yes_ could happen...considering she has no point of reference for how such a relationship would work. She is willing to try with him...with them, but she will leave if it does not work for her. Also they do need to talk with Dany and she's not there...
> 
> Depending on where you live you should see Jon's story on Tuesday/Wednesday!
> 
> As always, I really appreciate the time you take to read this story, and the comments you make. I wish I could send kudos to you!


	40. Jon XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon says goodbye to Sansa. He reunites with Daenerys, and make one more stop before departing for the Riverlands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only 5 chapters to go. Time in this verse will move quickly. This POV and the next 2 will be shorter, then the next round of POV's will be much longer. I guess I would want to know if you want me to post each long POV as 1 chapter or break it up into 2, but publish both parts on the same day. I have no preference, but sometimes too much text can be overwhelming and people might prefer a break. Just throwing that out there...
> 
> As always I appreciate constructive comments...as long as they are respectful. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

As if in a choreographed dance, they both began the day with purposeful actions, morning ablutions, a morning meal of oats and dried fruit, straightening of his bed furs. All done until all that remained was his bag, containing his limited possession and an unexpected small parcel Sansa wants him to forward to Daenerys, now draped over his shoulder. They moved together, but their hearts were not motivated to continue the task at hand, because any drive hastened their separation. Jon was not ready to leave. He wanted Sansa to leave with him, but she made her thoughts clear on the matter, and he would respect that...even though he wanted her to come. Selfish...perhaps Bran and Sam were wrong, and he truly was a bastard, one ruled by his yearnings. 

They stand beside the small boat. Jon watches as the sisters share a hug, whispered voices sail on the wind, but the content protected and unintelligible. Hindya walks off the ship, nodding to Arya, as she walks by to stand in front of him. “Thank you for accommodating my stay, Hindya.” 

“Anytime, King Crow.”

“I want to thank you for watching over Sansa. Even though I hope to be back soon...” His voice trails off. “If things at the summit go badly and you find that I have fallen, please continue to watch out for her.” Jon notices her stoic expression, not an unusual one for her, but it was her physical gesture...a softening of her eyes, hand on his shoulder, a hard squeeze before she released. Her eyes intent on his face. She purses her lips and nods to him in promise. “I wish you good fortunes in the wars to come, Jon Snow.”

He hadn’t heard that phrase in a while, it made him smile to think that such a Westerosi saying had made its way to the Frozen Shore. Before Jon could respond, the older woman walked away. As she does, there is something common about her gait. A woman of the True North, he thinks, much like Arya or Lyanna Mormont.

The sisters move away from each other, trading one last smile before Arya nods at him as she walks past and onto the vessel. Jon meets Sansa halfway. His eyes and hands try to catalog all the pieces of her. Her long red hair braided, flyaway strands blowing in the wind, her cheeks reddened, lips full from swell they sustained during her night’s sleep. Her eyes are bluer today, he noticed, as her eyes searched his face. Sansa’s body settled close to him, reminding him of how she felt when he held her as they slept by the fire, now he feels her hands laid on his chest...slender fingers caressing the direwolves on his cloak straps, the ones made by her clever hands. Jon’s heart seizes as he think this may be the last time he sees her, praying he is successful in his efforts in the South, but still unsure. Unable...or rather unwilling to tear his gaze away from hers. He threads his fingers into her hair, resting his head against hers, breathing her in...a hint of citrus. A sheen of tears coat her eyes, but they do not fall. He presses a kiss to the corner of each eye, the taste of salt now on his lips. Jon feels the rapid thump of her hands against him, a sign for him to go. He nods against her, but before he pulls away he angles her face slightly, and presses his lip against hers taking this moment with him like a brand on his soul. 

He walks backwards, his eyes still on her and not on the direction he is moving in until he has no choice but to turnabout. Now on the boat, he tosses his bag to the side, his large hands gripping the ledge, eyes back on her. As the ship sails to Westwatch-by-the-Bridge, he doesn’t move for a long time, and yet time still passes until gone is the outline of Sansa and the shores of the settlement.

***

Almost a fortnight had passed before Jon stood before the gates to Castle Black, he finds himself once again without a traveling companion, Arya informing him that she had _“no desire to set eyes of Daenerys Targaryen until I absolutely must.”_ She departed for Winterfell while he went to the Wall. During their time together they had many discussions on the topic of Daenerys, his lack of communication, her reservations, and the changes their choices have had on their relationship. While still kin and loved as such, he knows they will never be as they once were. Its knowledge that aches.

The gate swings open and standing in the courtyard looking much more “developed” than she had before stood Daenerys. At seven moons, she is heavy with child. Her violet eyes sparkled, there seems to be a luminosity attached to her, and though she is smiling at him, her expression seems a little bit unsure. Marching up to her, he enveloped her in his arms, pulling her in tightly, she whispers in his ear. “Welcome back, Jon...” 

While it feels good to see her, to hold her, be with her, there is an echo of longing for another. As Jon took in the activity around him, there seem to be more people within the keep, the most notable being the three men who stood to the side. It has been three moons since he has seen Ser Davos, Tyrion Lannister, and Grey W—Turgo Nudho. He had a more favorable reaction to seeing the first two men, he didn’t feel the same about the latter. Prior to the Kings Landing, Jon could admit that he respected Turgo Nudho, even though the man’s military training and tactics were different than his own. He found that skill in many ways even superseded his own. Torgo’s skill is valuable, but this man is a military man, he knew that to continue killing solders who surrendered was poor conduct. Yet he did so, following Daenerys, and didn’t turn away. Now while Jon will admit that he followed Dany South and into the city, he did walk away when he saw the tides turning...and he tried to save as many as he could. That is the difference between the men, Jon thinks. While he was Daenerys commander she also gave her men free will. While he knows many people won’t see the difference between them, Jon recognizes that disparity and it’s enough for him to keep the former slave at a distance. The man is loyal to Dany though...and Jon knows that Daenerys needs that security more than anything, especially as they head to the South.

The men greet each other, and with Dany they convene to talk about what became of the South after they had left. At one-point Tormund arrives to listen as well. Having Arya’s perspective, the men offered an equally unsettling tale. As the late evening arrives, he sees Dany stifling a yawn. Jon proposes they meet tomorrow morning to discuss further the expectations they should account for once they arrive in the Riverlands. Jon walks them to the door, each leaving with a departing word.

“It’s good to see you’ve returned, Your Grace.” Tyrion declares. Jon nods his acknowledgment too tired to correct Tyrion’s honorific. “And you as well.” He admits.

“You seem to have returned well intact, Jon. Glad tidings; I hope.” Davos murmurs for Jon’s ears only. Jon send him a rueful smile, his voice as quiet has Davos. “We have a long voyage South; may haps we can talk about it then. 

There are no words for Turgo...not for Jon and none for Jon’s from him, so both men nod their dismissal of each other. He shuts the door, resting his head against it, needing a moment of peace. “So, are you back? Are you really back?” Daenerys’s voice careful, but inquisitive. 

“Aye. I am.” He turns to Dany, walking to the bench he just vacated. 

“And?” She looks at him. Her eyes pensive.

“She’s willing to try.” Jon gets to the heart of her questioning. 

“Really?! Hmmm...she seemed so sure she would deny you.” The pregnant woman chuckled. “I had a feeling she would be wrong. You are quite persistent when you want to be Jon. I think she forgot that.”

Jon scoffs. “It was not as romantic as you might imagine, but after the summit. We will talk...us three.”

Dany’s dark chuckle warms his blood, “I wouldn’t characterize our own...reconnection as anything romantic. So, I could only imagine. You are recalcitrant with words of the heart, that is known by any woman who has ever held your affections; therefore, it doesn’t take clairvoyant skill to predict how it may have fared.”

Daenerys leans into Jon, he raises his arm to tuck her in close. “I’ve missed you.” he murmurs into her hair, a small bark of laughter simmered out of her, his arm tightening about her. 

“Did you?” She asked, her voice guarded but her body seeking ease. Clearly she feels unrestricted enough to take the comfort he so freely gives to her. 

Jon reflects on the time they spent a part. He knows he was consumed with Sansa, and rightly so, but Daenerys was always there, just as Sansa had remained in his thoughts when he had been attending to Daenerys in the aftermath of Kings Landing. Nudging her chin up with his hand, he turned her face to his, and kissed her. Her wide lips spreading to a smile, an imprinting on him her joy, a feeling he couldn’t help returning.

“Aye.”

***

With the progression of Daenerys’s pregnancy, it was decided that she would ride in a carriage on the Kings Road to the South. The remainder of the Northmen, Unsullied...those that came initially and the small retinue that arrived with the Unsullied commander, Tyrion, and Ser Davos traveled with Dany and Jon away from Castle Black. Jon and Tormund said their goodbyes, Jon holding out hope that the men’s paths will one day meet again.

As they were debating the best places to camp, Jon received a letter from Bran stating that they were welcomed to stay at Winterfell for a night or two, and that if Jon would be agreeable, could Bran travel with him to the summit. The letter included Houses that would welcome Bran...and his entourage..._all of his entourage_, such Houses as Manderly in White Harbor and Reed in Greywater Watch. “Do we trust it?” Tyrion questioned. 

“Bran would not lie about the invite. I will warn you they may not be warm, but they will honor the guest rights.” The smaller man paced the room, this mind working to foresee the issues with accepting Bran’s offer. “The North would...and Jon is right to expect just as cold, if not colder reception as we received in Winterfell pre-Kings Landing. Now that the matters in the South have been divulged we need to be prepared for the backlash that will come. You must remain measured Daenerys and you as well Turgo. If you cannot, then we end this now, for if you can’t handle three Lords then you aren’t ready to respond to the realm.”

Daenerys sat quietly by the window, she turned her head to look back at Tyrion, with a nod she concurs. “I am ready.” 

This is how Jon finds himself on the road with a carriage behind him and a small army of men surrounding. As he has already done before, he rides into the gates of Winterfell with Daenerys, and this time Bran and Meera Reed await their arrival. 

Jon comes down from his horse, walking over to the livery to help Daenerys out and on to steady ground...her gait less steady. They walk to the Lord of Winterfell. There is a tense awkwardness that blankets all that stand in the courtyard. A poor man’s version of what once happened before. Breaking the silence Jon speaks to his cousin. “Lord Stark, Lady Reed.”

“Lady Stark...” Bran corrects. Jon knew the marriage was to be, but hadn’t known they had married as of yet. Jon smiles to himself, finding happiness for his cousin.

Brandon continues to stare at Daenerys, his face impassive, unseeing eyes neutral. “While I cannot say Winterfell is yours, Queen Daenerys...” Jon feels Dany stiffen. “I can offer you bread and salt. Let us renew the guest rights between your people and mine as we reside within my home.”

Jon felt the small woman relax a small bit. “We...” She gestures to their group, “...thank you for your hospitality, Lord Stark.” Jon takes in the reactions of those in the yard, his eyes spy Arya standing on a parapet...her face devoid of any judgement but eyes complete with displeasure as she watches Dany.

“Please follow me.” Meera directs, her countenance reserved and cautious. Taking in the scene before him, Jon breaths in heavily for they have only arrived to Winterfell and the burden that he carries feels so substantial. He is not sure where the source of his strength will come from when they leave what he knows to be the most welcoming of the Houses in the realm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll post Dany's POV Thurs/Friday.
> 
> Happy reading...


	41. Daenerys XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys reminisces about the journey from Winterfell to the Riverlands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am almost done with Sansa's POV in the epilogue. So I feel comfortable posting the next 2 chapters. 
> 
> I appreciate the passionate comments, even if I haven't responded to them all. I will get back to commenting in a bit. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

The carriage jolted in a rhythm that tended to bring Daenerys to sleep, and then just a quickly would awaken her. This has been her life for the last turn of the moon. She has had the alternate company of Tyrion or Davos, but never that of Arya Stark. The woman travels on her own horse, traveling ahead of the carriage. Dany’s mind thinks about the new Lady of Winterfell. Meera Reed...Stark...was a true Northern woman, like most women from her homeland. She never shied from speaking with her. She was courteous and always made a point to inquire about her and the babe. Dany had the feeling Arya Stark preferred being far enough away from her that conversation would be unnecessary, until it could not be avoided any longer. The young woman is not alone in wanting to keep their conversations limited. Dany appreciated the wide berth and reciprocated in kind. 

Most of the voyage was hard on her body, up to 8 hours in a coach, and sleeping on layered furs...it made for plenty of aches and pains. Though her mind was in more turmoil as she got closer to the South, she did appreciate the days and nights she could sleep in a proper bed. The first stop with appropriate accommodations with White Harbor. Lord Manderly looked as though he would have preferred she was not in his home. He, his wife, and his people were unmoved towards her. Daenerys could see the warmth they had for Brandon and Arya Stark...and the civility they had towards Jon despite everything. 

She spent most of her time in the small chamber they had assigned her. While Jon spent most of his time speaking with the few Lords in attendance, including the Lord of Winterfell. Everyone thought it best that Dany keep any words she wished to speak for the summit...it was a strategy she agreed to. Every evening they met and shared what conversations were discussed.

Their last night in White Harbor found Dany seeking to have the evening alone with Jon. As he entered her rooms, she sat on the furs before the fireplace. A heavy fur draped on her shoulders. Her hair loose and wavy down her back, her hands on her burgeoning womb. With one hand she patted the space beside her, a smile welcoming Jon to sit beside her. He holds her hand, threading his fingers into hers. A concerned look in his eyes. “Dany?”

She looks into the flames of the fire, resting her head on his strong shoulder. Dany feels his lips press against her hair. “What are you thinking?”

Sighing deeply, she shares what she needs from him. All the talk of what to expect from the summit, she has yet to really tell Jon what she wants...no, what she needs. Dany has no idea if it is something she could even attain at this point, but she thinks it best he knows. “I know we have met and talked and planned for this meeting.” She stalls, trying to collect her words. 

“Aye. We have. We are as prepared as we can be. We even have a plan for you to go back to Essos, should things become so dire we cannot contain it.”

She nods. Finding it hard to say the words of what she truly wants, Daenerys pulls out a small lady’s handkerchief. She passes it into his hands, her eyes on his. His eyes recognizing the work of the artist who made this for her. He gazes into Dany’s eyes, “This is Sansa’s work.”

She smiles, “I knew you would be able to tell.”

“Where did you get this?” His voice uncertain, as his hands open up the piece of cloth...affording him a view of the design with a lovely stitch.

“She made it for me. It was in the small parcel, along with a letter, that she had sent with you.” Daenerys continues to eye Jon carefully, taking in his expressions, his reaction. He seemed to be in awe of it. In awe of what she wasn’t sure, was it that Sansa had sent her anything that could be construed as a gift or that he was holding something made by the hands of a woman he loves...but had to leave behind.

“You told her.” His voice barely a whisper as is stormy eyes captured hers. Pulling her gaze away she looks back at the fabric in his hand. She carefully take the napkin from his hand, and opens it up to see the full design. The material is a dark brown, nothing of note, but the embroidery on it...well that speaks of something else. The manse was sewn in the color of sandstone, a front door stitched in a vibrant red, and as almost if it were really planted...hung a lemon tree near the door. The yellow of a lemon in such vivid contrast to the red. 

“Yes. I did.”

Jon pushes back her hair behind her ear. “What does it mean?”

Dany reaches up to hold his hand to her head. She pulls him down by this leather jerkin, laying a soft kiss to his lips. Moving away from him, she murmurs, “It means that I don’t want to have to leave. We need to survive this. It reminds me of what I lost sight of. I don’t desire to revert to what I had become. It tethers me to hope for a future.” 

Resting her head against Jon’s chest, they laid that way as they stared into the fire until sleep claimed them.

***

When they arrived to Greywater Watch, Lord Stark seemed very happy to be reunited with his good father. The Lord of the manor, Howland Reed, was a thin man with kind eyes. The same eyes that always seemed to find their gaze on Jon. Shortly after their arrival, Lord Reed asked to speak privately with Jon and the Stark’s. After their discussion, they left Lord Reed’s private rooms, looking just as somber as they had when they entered the chamber. Daenerys could sense that Jon needed space, so she asked Ser Davos to keep her company on a short walk around the Keep. Unlike any kind of castle, she’d ever seen. It was a bit of a marvel. 

They were set to leave in two days’ time. Though Jon spoke with the only person, other than Ned Stark, who had always known the truth of his parentage, she learned that Jon inquired as much as he could about his mother. It seems the older man told Jon all he could remember. Jon’s melancholy was an additional weight on the man. She could see it...feel it, and it made her hurt for him. There was naught she could do for Jon, but give him the space he needed, for when he is ready he will share with her what weighs on his mind. 

The litter rumbles over a particularly gnarly spot on the road, almost unseating Daenerys, as the carriage halts to a stop. Not an easy feat at eight moons along. “Are we here? She asked Tyrion. The man looking out of the window, then back to her. We are very close. He gestures for her to see for herself. Moving over to the window, she peels the curtain to the side and peers out. Rolling hills ending at a river the resuming on the other side, she sees two identical keeps, both separated by the water but connected by a bridge. Many tents are surrounded around each end of the Keeps, banners of sigils unrecognizable to her blowing in the wind. She finds it hard to wet her tongue...to speak.

“All Southern Houses are camped on the other side of the river and Northern ones on this side.”

Barely able to share the thoughts she is rapidly collecting, “And where are we?”

“We are in the keep on this side of the river. The contingent we sent ahead has secured our section, but we must share the building with others from the North. I must say it is a marvel to me the kind of internal fortitude the Starks seem to have in reserve. You might hope your babe inherits that trait from their father.”

“The Starks?” Not sure she understands Tyrion’s meaning. 

“Take Sansa, by all accounts she was brutalized in her childhood home, yet she fought to regain it and resided in it until recently. Not to mention the events that led to Lord Brandon’s paralysis...he too resides. Varys once told me that Arya Stark was here the day of the Red Wedding...Sandor Clegane had just arrived with her...he saved her again by leaving as soon as he realized what had happened. Where is she? In the same Keep working to ensure her remaining family is safe in the place where she lost her mother and oldest brother. Let’s not forget your Jon Snow. Murdered by his men at Castle Black, and where does he go for sanctuary...the very place that saw his death and resurrection.”

Tyrion’s words are sorrowful ones. She can relate to the desire to be home, but she doesn’t know if she could stay someplace riddled with horrible memories. Especially when experiences tarnish the beauty and peace a place can bring. While she has dreams of the house with the red door, she knows she wants what the place represented. Too much bad came after Ser Derry died, and she could never see herself residing there again. “Jon never told me this was the place where he lost Robb. All he said was that it happened in the Riverlands. Why chose this place when it houses such memories?”

“If I had to guess I would say with Brandon Stark’s _ability_, they are looking to bring a beloved Northern son home to rest in the crypts of Winterfell.”

“Robb?”

“Yes, and whatever they can find of his wife, child, and their mother.”

“Oh my...”

“Hmmm...it also wouldn’t hurt to remind the realm of what happened here when guest rights were dishonored...an insurance to keep us honest. As I said before, they seem to have some kind of internal fortitude known only to them. But I could be wrong. I would encourage you just to ask Jon for I believe he would tell you his reasons for picking this place.”

The carriage begins moving again. Daenerys finds herself reflecting over Tyrion’s words. His voice pulls her out of her reverie. “Are you afraid?” 

She looks sharply at him; he stares at her with a curious expression. Dany’s mind transports to her throne room in Meereen. She thinks about his question then and inventories how she feels now, and the answer is the same. She nods in affirmation. “You should be. You’re in the great game now, and the great game is terrifying.” They both look at each other, a different kind of heaviness between them in contrast to the weight of their initial journey to Westeros. Expressions of disappointment and sadness mirror each other, before they both turn to the sight of their next...and quite possibly...final destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So did you guess where the summit would have been held? Where you surprised by the choice to have it at The Twins rather than at Riverrun?
> 
> I want Robb, with all his imperfections, to come home. I want him to be buried with the rest of the Stark Kings...so I made it so.


	42. Sansa XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old friend returns with a message for Sansa. Another decision needs to be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go back in time with me...Jon and Arya have been gone for a fortnight. The next chapter puts you back to the current timeline. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Sansa could see herself back in Winterfell. She is a girl sitting in a room with other girls...and her Septa. Unaware of how she got there, Sansa looks down at herself, surprised to see that she was smaller than she was now. A mirror hanging on a wall in front of her showed a different Sansa of a different time...a younger spoiled girl, and not the grown woman she knew herself to be. Turning to look around the room, the faces of the other girls were muddled and unclear...all except for one. 

Jayne...Jayne Poole. 

“Oh Sansa, I just can’t seem to get this butterfly wing. How do you do it so perfectly? It is quite vexing my friend.” The dark-haired girl leans over, showing her youthful design to Sansa. 

Stunned by her friend’s presence in her dream, Sansa finds her response to be inadequate. “Jayne it is you...you are here? I have missed you.”

Jayne cocks her head to the side, an expression of confusion flitters over her face. “What are you speaking of Sansa? Of course, it’s me, who else would I be?” The girl giggles. “I am touched by your miss, but we have been with each other all day. Are you feeling alright? Should I call the Septa over?”

Before Sansa could reply she found the walls of her dream begin to shimmer, until the dream was gone, and Sansa found her consciousness returning to her being. Opening her eyes, she looks at the ceiling in her room. Jon is gone. Arya is gone. Both have left her and she misses them greatly. She begins to think that perhaps, these recent dreams of Jayne come from her missing the parts of Winterfell. Turning to her side, she pulls the pillow closer to her, her eyes meet the garnet ones that are looking at her. A smile tugs at her lips, Ghost ever watchful, seems to always be on alert and she wonders if Jon’s wolf ever sleeps. The large beast begins to pull at her furs, his cue to get her out of bed. Over the last fortnight she had needed the push. 

“Alright. I am up...you miser of sleep.” Getting herself ready for the day, Sansa think about her dream and wonders how Podrick has fared on his own journey.

***

The horn blared its warning to the residents of the Frozen Shore compound, after all this time Sansa finds she still carries a hint of worry about what news or persons are to come off the ship. Part of her responsibility here is to meet Lord Manderly’s boats upon their arrival and see them off on their departure. Since both people are stepping into unchartered territory of commerce with each other, she has been the one they both chose to work through and therefore her presence must be apparent.

Sansa stands before the ship, her eyes taking in the vessel for signs of a familiar face. This time she was blessed because in her view was a familiar dark-haired man, and beside him was an equally dark-haired female. Thinking a mirage had appeared before her was her childhood friend. As soon as it was safe, both women ran into each other’s arms, mutual tears of joy streaming down their faces. Murmured words whispered into their ears, words only for them, for the girls they once were. Sansa told her what she wished she had heard herself.

“Oh Jayne, my dear girl. Welcome home...”

***

Sansa and Podrick sat before a fire pit outside of her hut. They left Jayne to sleep, her body not used to such a long and difficult journey. With a hushed voice, Podrick shared with her what he had learned from the people who had survived Kings Landing and who had made it further out into the Crownlands. Sansa shook her head in dismay, such a shame that things have become what they have.

Podrick clears his throat after a deep drink of ale. “My sense is that the South is too strapped to do any real fighting. Word is that those going to the summit are putting up a token resistance, because they have no real armies...well except perhaps for Dorne, but they are in such disarray after their Princes were killed and the Sands took over. Though they aren’t able to maintain their power. There is a quiet chaos to be felt, that is for sure. The common people are feeling the weather changing. They are more concerned about surviving the winter than who sits on that bloody chair. All they do now is look to their Liege Lords and Ladies to help provide, but so many of them are gone or without true means themselves. It’s so different from how the people were when there was that food shortage during Joffrey’s reign...quiet chaos, I tell you.”

Sansa looks to her friend; she reads his expressions as they tell her more about what he conceals from his experience in the South. “I heard Jon was here. Did he or Daenerys give you any more information on what they plan to do?”

“I have spoken with them both. Daenerys, I think, seems to believe that she can fix this and still remain a ruling Queen here. I think she has a better chance at being Jon’s Queen Consort than ruler, and even the likelihood of that would require the return of her dragon.” Sansa murmurs her suppositions.

“And you? What of you? We stopped at Winterfell before we came here. Seems like Jon came looking for you...appears like he finally found you. I doubt he trekked all throughout the North to say hello. So, what did he say?” Pod nudges.

Shifting on her stool, she tests out how the words might be received by a Westerosi, maybe the words would sound more foreign to her if she where to do so. “He wants me. Jon wants me by his side, as one of his wives...should I agree to his offer.” Sansa braces herself to see incredulity morph onto Pod’s face, and when it doesn’t appear she inquires as to why. 

“Hmmmm...I guess this seemed to be the progression of things, at least after Lord Brandon told us Jon had decided to stay with Daenerys, in spite of what she had done, and that he said he was still coming for you. Also...he is a Targaryen. The way of two wives might not be acceptable for the rest of realm of men, but Jon Snow is not just any man. Whether he claims to be or not, Targaryens have a history of having more than one wife and the Seven Kingdoms has allowed it. We are now back in the age of dragons; I doubt the religion of the Old Gods and the Sevens has the power to argue against when such creatures exist...even if there is just one.”

Sansa ponder the words he utters so matter-of-factly. While yes having a king with more than one wife would have been denied by the religions of Westeros, it was a practice they tolerated once...when dragons once roamed the realm. Perhaps the idea isn’t as far-fetched as she would have thought. “Maybe you are right. It could be tolerated, not embraced though, and with Daenerys as queen, even if as a consort, it may be too much for people to accept.”

“Yes, but better accepted if you were his Queen as well. You are loved in the North; your name means something here. In the South, you have support as well. You have the Vale and the Riverlands. If Tyrion isn’t hanged, you might have the Westerlands. Brienne has written to her father in the Stormlands. My understanding is he has a healthy respect for the Starks. It also seems as though the Stormlands have chosen to accept Gendry, so you have a supporter in him. As for the Reach, I know Tarly has been in talks with Houses Hightower and Redwyne, I think he could get them to support you as Queen. Most places could support the idea of you than her...maybe it could be enough to sway the people.”

“I don’t want to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I want the North to be independent, and that was what we had. I told Jon when he visited that most places probably want that as well...for the North couldn’t be the only one who wanted such a change in political sovereignty.” Sansa rubs her hands together, the warmth of the fire feeling so good against her chilled fingers. 

“Is this why you are still here? Did you tell him no?” Podrick arched a brow in question.

“I am here because I told him I was open to considering the idea of us. He and Daenerys have so much ahead of themselves with this summit. Once there is some type of resolution there, only then can we have a true conversation of what this would look like. There are limits that I will not bend on, I cannot be the only one. That will impact everything.” She muses as she recalls the conversations she shared with Jon on the eve of his departure. 

“I guess time will tell. Do you plan to go to the summit?” Pod tilts his head to look at her. 

“No. The summit were not in my plans.” Wanting to change the subject she inquired about Bran and Meera.

“They are well. Married. In fact, Brandon sent me with a letter for you.” Podrick rises and enters her quarters for a moment. He returns with a scroll in hand. The compact man stifles a yawn as he passes the document to her. Knowing the man has to be exhausted, and wanted some privacy to read her brother’s letter, she encourages Pod to turn in. “Go to bed. I will see you in the morning. Thank you for this.” Sansa holds up the letter. “Thank you for her.” She nods in the direction of her hut. “It’s good to have you back, Pod.”

The dark-haired man nods, sending her another smile and walks away. She breaks the waxed seal and unravels the note. 

_  
Dear Sansa,_

_By the time you read this letter, Jon and his party will depart at the end of the week from Castle Black to begin the journey South. We should see them arrive in over a fortnight. I have offered them protection in Winterfell and secured them loose support by way of Houses Manderly and Reed...well loose support in the likeness of an escort to the South. Sentiments for and against him and his party is even...with a fair amount leaning on opposite sides._

_I know you have very clear feelings about attending the summit, and it is not my intent to sway you either way. My letter to you is less about the South and more about our family. _

_We all head for the Riverlands, all except for Meera...for there should always be a Stark in Winterfell, and as my attendance is prudent, she will remain as she carries my heir. It is early, two moons, but we are sure. This is a good thing, Sister. I will always be thankful for your advice for without it this would not have come to pass. _

_You once shared with me that you felt we held more allegiance to Jon when we helped him in the aftermath of Kings Landing. We hurt you by not including you in our plans, even when we required your assistance. There is a chance that we will work together on another venture in the near future. Now while I do not foresee requiring your assistance, I invite you to come because you are owed the choice to determine your commitment, as the tasks is owed to us all. _

_As we planned to go to The Twins for this summit, Jon had asked me to use ‘my skills’ to discover the current resting places of our brother Robb, his wife, and their child. Unfortunately, Mother is lost to us, but Robb and is family are not. Arya should arrive to Winterfell in about a sennight, and Jon about a fortnight later. I will inform them of what I have found, just as I have informed you. _

_If I know you and Jon as well as I do, then you have maintained your position not to come South and Jon has chosen to abide by it. In doing so, to protect your wish...I am sure...he has not told you the exact location of the summit. He had requested this location in hopes that I would be successful, and that we could lay as many ghosts to rest as we could. _

_It would be fitting for the remaining Starks and our remaining bannermen to see that the remains of the King in North return home. I know how you loved Robb. I would not deny you the chance to retrieve him and bring him home. There is little doubt in me that Arya would refuse, and I am aware of Jon’s confidence. I hope that you will join us, Sister, but the choice is up to you. _

_It is my deepest desire to see you there, Sansa, but I understand if you cannot bring yourself to return to the South...even for family._

_Should you decide to come, then you must depart soon. Meet us in the Riverlands in a moon’s turn. If you are on your way, then I will know._

_You occupy my thoughts and retain my affections._

_Your brother, _

_Brandon Stark Lord of Winterfell _

Sansa is stunned by the content of the letter. _Robb_. They want to bring Robb home...Robb and his family. A proper resting place for her beloved brother. She is torn by what to do. Her heart constricts as she considers what her actions should be. She swore to herself she would never go South again...never. But could she...to help bring them home. 

Home. How she had wanted to go home when she was left in the South...left to a den of lions. Robb had left her. He kept Jaime Lannister, and if she understood her history well, she could have been traded if the North would have released the knighted Lannister. Robb refused. He fought for the memory of their father, but didn’t do enough to bring that father’s child home. She was a pawn in the South and her brother decreased her worth by continuing with his war for his justice. But what was that justice when compared to the public and private abuse she suffered for his direct actions. It shames her for how parts of her still hate him for his choices. Her hate is as evenly matched by her love. 

All Sansa ever wanted was for her family to bring her home. Jon helped in that regard...bringing her home in a different way. Could she stay and not loath herself for eternity for remaining here and not going. The Starks should be laid to rest in the crypt...in their home. They should also be brought back by the people who still remember them, and who loved them. It is what she wished for herself when she thought of Joffrey lessons. What if one lesson went too far? She prayed that once Robb and the North won, they would find her remains and lay her to rest with Lady. 

It is that thought that informs Sansa’s choice to depart to the South. She resolves to tell Hindya, Pod, and Jayne in the morning of her decision. She will help bring Robb to Winterfell. Her hopes are that she’ll remain optimistic that once she’s arrives in the South she won’t lose herself, and that she’ll ultimately be able to find her way back home again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So she is going South...but not for Jon. However...it might or might not matter what her intentions were. Lets see if Sansa stays true to the woman she has become or will she find herself resorting back to the ways of her earliest tutors...Cersei, Baelish.
> 
> On a side note, my heart goes out to Jayne Poole. I wanted her with a good man...and she now has that in Podrick.


	43. Jon XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The summit begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to just publish what is written. Once I finish Sansa's POV in the original epilogue I will post both the original and alternate endings.
> 
> The last 3 chapters will be longer in length.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Jon thinks about what is to come, both on a private and public stage. It seems like so long ago when he thought to hold the summit in the Riverlands. The Riverlands seemed like as central a place for the realm to meet. He thought he could have hosted the event in Herrenhal, but in the last moments, he thought it best to be closer to the North, closer to a waterway, to the moving keep of Greywater Watch. His mind went to The Twins...then to Robb. It was in that moment that Jon decided to ask Bran, while in his raven form, to look into the past to find the family they and others had lost during the massacre that was the Red Wedding. Robb deserved to be in the Stark crypt. He was the ‘true’ King in the North and he belonged where the other Stark Kings resided. Bran has done well. As it stands, what is left of the Northern army, with help in the form of men from the Vale and the Riverlands, are identifying the graves of the fallen and collecting their remains to transport to their proper resting place. These regions coming together to assist in laying the memory of their kin to rest. 

They arrived three days before the start of the summit. In that time each part of the Seven Kingdoms kept to their best behavior. According to Arya’s _scouting_, various House leaders have met with each other in private. She doesn’t discount the idea that there are also words being passed in secret, she has just yet to figure out the vehicle for such communication. No one has attempted to cross the lines to their camp, though Jon is not surprised by that. 

The energy at the Twins is frenetic and tense, and as the first day of the summit arrives Jon finds himself letting himself into Dany’s room. The babe making her a combination of tired and restless, he turns to see her asleep on her side, a leg draped over the furs, and her pillow clutched in her hands. Jon knows that the easiest thing for Dany to do is to leave, but he is proud of her for wanting to remain to see as much of the summit through as she could. They both agreed to her leaving should things progress to such a state that their child was in eminent danger. A plan was in place, and should they fail, then Dany would travel back with Howland and Torgo Nudho to Greywater Watch where she would disappear with the moving castle, until she could get to Tormund or to Essos. 

Jon notices the swell below her night shift. He wonders if he will live long enough to see his child enter the world. For a moment he wonders about the man who was his sire, and he ponders if the man felt the same way about him on the eve of his last battle. He will never understand Rhaegar Targaryen, but if they man had any love for his wife, then his thoughts also ran to her and their children on that night. 

At least that is what Jon wants to believe. He believes it because he finds himself thinking of Sansa, and his last words to her...the words he sent to her in a letter. A fool in many ways, he knows he left the Frozen Shore with hope. But he knew that should he fail...fall...he needed her to know that he loved her dearly, and that he knew she loved him...and if that was all the Gods were going to grant them, then it would carry him through when The Stranger came to take him for the final time. He wanted her to know that she was loved deeply, and that she could love so well in return, for he felt it, and that all he wanted for her was for Sansa to find her happiness...even if that joy would never be with him for she deserves it. 

As the sun begins to cast a glow across the sky, Jon standing on the balcony off of Daenerys’s room. He looks out among the people who have come, and he prays again for the strength to see this battle through.

***

The agreement for those in attendance is that only three people can enter the chamber to represent each part of the Kingdom. All persons were to be checked and weapons are to be left at the door. The largest chamber in the Northern section of the keep was arranged with enough seating for everyone.

It was thought that Jon and Dany would arrive just before the contingents arrived. As Jon watched the people enter he was prepared for the mistrustful eyes, heightened whispers, and wary stares. He looks over to his left where Daenerys was seated. Dressed in her House colors black and red, her clothes tailored for her current figure, she still looked beautiful, like the fierce woman that caught his attention. Her hair braided in the way of the Dothraki, expression stoic, her face reveals nothing...not the fear he knows she harbors. He thinks his face shows nothing as well, though his heart and mind are in much turmoil.

Seeing Daenerys lean over to the right of her chair, she whispers, “How long do you truly think this summit will last?”

Jon looking at the room fill with people he does not know, and banners he barely recognizes, he replies, “Not very long. They will hear our words, we will hear theirs, decisions will be made, and they will leave. The weather is becoming more than they are typically ready to handle. They will want to be home at the height of Winter. They need to return before the worst of it begins.”

When the last person is checked and seated, the door to the chamber closes, and the summit has now begun.

***

Jon watches as Tyrion begins to speak. “It would be best to start with everyone stating the region for which they come to represent.”

A long silence prevails. Jon can see Arya rolling her eyes from the back of the chamber. His eyes take in the small number of people in this room, and all he sees are the losses from all the wars...ever since his uncle’s death. 

“Lord Brandon Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North, here...for the North. I bring with me Lord Wyman Manderly from House Manderly of White Harbor, and Lord Howland Reed from House Reed of Greywater Watch.” All eyes turned to Bran’s table, his cousin sits at the end, his bannermen at his side. 

“Lord Robyn Arryn of the Eyrie, Warden of the East, Defender of the Vale. I bring my advisors Lord Yohn Royce of House Royce of Runestone and Lady Anya Waynwood of House Waynwood of Ironoaks”

And on it went...Tully, Blackwood, Mallister, Redwyne, Hightower, Tarly, Stokesworth, Baratheon, Errol, Tarth, Lannister, Westerling, Marbrand, Martell, Blackmont, Yronwood, Greyjoy...until all eyes were on them. 

Jon looked over at Daenerys, sending her a subtle nod of support. “Queen Daenerys ‘Stormborn’ Targaryen of Meereen and of House Targaryen and I bring with me Jon Targaryen of House of Targaryen.” It takes all of Jon’s strength not to turn away when she calls him by his sire’s name. He understands for the purpose of this convention he requires it, but it grates on his soul nevertheless. Dany stands, his eyes on the people seated before them, observing their moves. Jon notices Torgo Nudho doing the same. 

“It was a little over a year ago that I returned to the shores of Westeros. I returned to Dragonstone, the seat of my ancestral home...a home I had to flee many years ago as a babe for causes that were not of my doing.” Jon’s eyes track her movement to the front of the table. His anxiety rising as he worries about her being physically closer to those who have every wish to harm her. “For as long as I could remember, all I had ever wanted was to find my home. It became my quest, and on that journey I found myself serving as a champion for those taken from their homes and sold as slaves. Living their whole entire lives as slaves for a master. All the challenges I faced to bring myself home, led me to moments of doing so much good for others...for freeing them from the wheel that keeps them oppressed, that I found myself wanting to free as many as I could.” She stops her pacing before the seated Lords and Ladies. “I thought I could do that for Westeros. I thought I could be that for The Seven Kingdoms, but I was wrong. You needed my help to defeat the Night King and you truly did not want Cersei to continue as your Queen. I could have helped you in these matters, as a citizen of this realm. Somewhere in my journey I lost my way...my reason.” A loud murmur begins among the crowd. “I cannot undo all the harm I have done to Kings Landing and the subsequent consequences felt by the people of this kingdom. I know you have no cause to believe my words, but I am deeply sorry for the destruction I have caused. As I stand before you, all I can try to do is mitigate the harm I have instigated, if you will allow it.”

“Queen? Don’t you mean Conqueror. That is what you are. That is what you came here to be. All one has to do is travel to what was once Kings Landing to see the kind of help you are so _willing_ to offer.” The Evenstar called out. The tall blonde man stood, his countenance very much like his daughters, his voice loud and laced with disapproval.

Jon looked over at Daenerys who was now standing beside him. He could detect a tremble in her hands, one she quieted when she rested her hands on the table.

“My Lords and Ladies, we are at the start of Winter. We all have responsibilities to our people. Let us take this opportunity to create a lasting treaty of peace among us--” Tyrion attempted to quell the louder rumblings. The voices raising to such a loud volume Jon knew that nobody was listening to each other. They could barely hear each other. The only people not arguing among the group where the contingent of the North. They spoke in calm whispers, a contrast from the Southern lords and ladies. Jon also thought the North knew Daenerys differently, Jon had disclosed his folly, and how Dany had come without qualifications to help the realm. 

“Everlasting peace? A Targaryen would be the last person to lead a talk on peace. This same woman’s father and brother waged a bloody war on this continent...all of us serving at the temperamental whims of madmen. My father lost his first heir because of them. You have not proven yourself better. You’re just a different kind of danger?” The young Lord Paramount of the Vale spoke cautiously. A young man, really, and not the child Sansa once spoke of.

Daenerys looks to Jon. Her eyes speaking so loudly. He doesn’t know what else to do for her. This needs to happen. It is her responsibility to carry.

“She aligns herself with people who engaged in treason. Treason to the Crown, but also to the people they had been sworn to care for. Olenna Tyrell cared nothing for us, no more than the Hellholt bastard cared for the people of Dorne. We are not perfect, but most are better than that. They gave her access into our Kingdom. Tyrion Lannister you stand there for the Westerlands and I wonder at the gumption it must take to do so. Kinslayer to your own father. You have no right to represent the Westerlands. You are a traitor who brought this plague to our shores for reasons known selfishly to you. Then we have the King in the North who gave her passage and power, and by the looks of it other things...but then again, he is a Targaryen is he not.” Lord Baelor Hightower called out among the din rising in the chamber. 

Jon clenched his jaw at the comment. He did not bring Daenerys to Westeros. She was already here, but he did give her the North, and his decision to do so wasn’t some great Targaryen conspiracy. The side note of her pregnancy wasn’t lost on him either, a pubic declaration that their alliance was more than political. More voices just overlapped until they were so loud that no one could be heard. People were standing, yelling their arguments across the tables.

“She killed innocents.”

“Women and children...”

“We heard the bells rang...the bells rang...”

“She didn’t stop.”

“Her dragon destroyed everything in its sight.”

“She killed prisoners of war.”

“The food harvested for the winter...all burned.”

“Her men murdered people on the streets of Kings Landing.”

“Women raped and slaughtered as the city fell...”

“The wounded...burned, bleeding...barely surviving...”

“These people will never be the same...”

Jon tactfully turns to see Daenerys rise. “On the day I attacked Kings Landing, I went with the intention to claim the throne. My war was with Cersei and not with the people. Unfortunately, my plan...my attack took the war to the people. I have no defense to justify why I did not stop once the bells tolled. I could offer you what motivated me then, but those motivations no longer resonate with me...or rather I see them differently, and less desperately. The woman before you cannot erase the effects of my acts, and my contrition should mean nothing to you, but I hope you will see that I will do all I can to alleviate the consequences to the people. I do have another kingdom. I could have left, but I do have resources, and I want to help you. Let me help you.” He could hear the remorse in her voice, but her repentance means nothing to them, and in all honestly the remorse should only serve her for it to be meaningful...to guide her in future decisions. It doesn’t really benefit the people who have been hurt, not really, the advantage holds for people she crosses path with in the future. 

“She also came and fought with the North, the Vale, and the Free Folk against the Night King. In doing so, she lost a dragon and a portion of her armies to the cause. A plea, with the exception of the Vale, you ignored.” It was Bran’s embodied voice that pierced through the cacophony of voices that filled the room. Jon’s eyes searched his cousin but Bran seemed insulated from the matters at hand. 

Jon stand, trying to bring order about. 

“Lords and Ladies of the Seven Kingdoms, you have no reason to listen to me, but I will ask you to do so just the same. You are right in that I sought Queen Daenerys help. By now you are aware of the events that occurred in the North. We reached out to you all and only the Vale and Queen Daenerys heard our appeal. We fought together for a common goal, a good that benefited the whole of this continent. I am not here to sit here and cast blame. It is peculiarly incumbent upon you who have strength to set a right example to others. I ask you to remember that you cannot retain your self-respect if you are loose and foul of tongue, that a man or woman who is to lead a clean and honorable life must inevitably suffer if their speech likewise is not clean and honorable. Every person here knows the temptations that beset all of us in this world. At times any we will slip. I do not expect perfection, but I do expect genuine and sincere effort toward being decent and cleanly in thought, in word, and in deed. As I said at the outset, I hail the work of this society as typifying one of those forces which tend to the betterment and uplifting of our social system. Our whole effort should be toward securing a combination of the strong qualities with those qualities which we term virtues. I expect you to be strong. I would not respect you if you were not. I want to see it a moving spirit among people of strength. I do not expect you to lose one particle of your strength or courage by being decent. On the contrary, I should hope to see each man and woman who is a member of this society, from their membership in it become all the fitter to do the rough work of the world. I desire to see in this country the decent people strong and the strong people decent, and until we get that combination in pretty good shape we are not going to be by any means as successful as we should be.” [1]

Jon paused. His heart pounding in his chest. Everyone eyes were upon him. The grumbling had stop. He could see these leaders, these men and women of the realm, calculate his words. They begin to leaning into their advisors, talking in whispers, eyes glancing back at Dany...at him. 

A man from Dorne stands. “What you speak of is strength and decency, but Dorne struggles with taking advice from a man whose father left my cousin and her children to die. You hail from a man who had no decency towards those he swore an oath to, and a woman who shown no decency when she chose to defy her duty and lay with a married man.”

Clenching his jaw just before he let thoughtless words past his lips, he remembered Sansa’s advice..._You need to be smarter than Father, smarter than Robb. I loved them, but they made foolish mistakes.”_

“Aye, you’re right. My parents actions were reprehensible and many of you and your families suffered for it. They selfishly chose their wants over doing their duty...to their family and to the realm. I did not know this was my history. All my life I had been raised as the Bastard of Winterfell. All I knew was a life as the child of Eddard Stark. He was an honorable man, a good man, who sacrificed his reputation in the eyes of his wife and his family to keep me safe. He was the man who raised me, and that is the man that stands before you. A man raised as a Stark. A man who is asking you to work together to find a way past this, not for me or for the people in this room, but for the realm. A return to our duty.”

Lord Yohn Royce rises, “What do you propose? You called us here, so you might as well as tell us what you want. We can move on from there.” 

Jon’s eyes scan over the faces in the room. Eyes that bore into him on a continuum of wariness to neutrality to distrust. He catches Bran’s gaze; the new Lord of Winterfell’s countenance does not share with Jon his true feelings...but this has been the way of Bran for a long while, his blindness magnifies it. Arya stands near a corner, by a door, and her face is as stoic as ever, her opinion is hers to keep and anyone looking at her can only guess at her leanings. 

Turning his head, he looks at Tyrion, the short stout man nods for him to continue, but Jon wonders if the remaining Lion know just what will come his way once he says his peace. Ser Davos stands against a wall, hands behind his back, a sad smile graces his somber face. A gentle touch on his hand brings his attention to the small woman beside him. The love that should never have been, but the fates were determined that they would find each other even though they lived continents apart, traveling a life’s path that should never have had them meeting. Her eyes pleading with him, fear of change...fear that this could go wrong, but Jon is resolved in speaking the words that need to be said. The room is now silent.

Just as Jon begins to address the people in the room, the center doors to the chamber swing open, it is the flash of a red braid that pours out from under the hood which first alerts Jon to her presence. She is speaking to the man beside her, and unaware of her surroundings, it isn’t until the man gestures towards Brandon Stark does she look up to see that she has walked into the summit chamber. Her blue eyes widen, her well ingrained sense of courtesy begins to cover her like a shield, and as before him she transformed protecting the woman she fought to be and in her stead stood the Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell. Her eyes though, they seared through to him, making Jon want to go to her and bring her to his side...where she belonged. He had not expected her and her presence unraveled something in him. Their gaze torn as she walked towards Bran and the delegates of the North.

“Three hundred years ago, this continent consisted of its own Kingdoms. Each region held to their own government, to their own authority, and it was the way of things for thousands of years. Then the Targaryens came to an unoccupied island off the coast of Westeros and ruled there, as awareness of their home had been destroyed by acts that could not have been controlled. Aegon Targaryen decided to expand the family’s power and authority and he did it with hubris and ego. He did so without thought of the people he decided to conquer, and without care. Aegon used his greatest advantage and within two years the political landscape of Westeros had changed. And for what? Personal gain, power...to bastardize the love people had for the kings they currently had and take it for himself. I do not know. The Seven Kingdoms has seen more conflict in integration than we ever had in independence.” 

A murmur begins to vibrate off Jon’s words. He sits beside Daenerys, and can hear her sharp inhalation of breath. Jon turns to her, eyes wide but not in anger ...but disappointed, he thinks...in herself...in the loss of her cause. 

“It is my purpose, with the support of Queen Daenerys, to undo as much of the damage which has come from our paternal line. If we can find a way to separate our realms without destroying each other, and without leaving our shared continent unprotected in times of great need, then it is my intent to undo Aegon’s legacy and dissolve the Seven Kingdoms and restore their original self-rule.”

Jon was expecting a loud explosion of voices, but all that followed was silence. Men and women looked at each other, looks of confusion and disbelief seemed to be a common expression. 

A man wearing the Blackwood sigil stands, “I am seeking clarity. You propose to dissolve the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Yes. Each kingdom can decide for themselves how they wish to rule. Perhaps too much time and blood has spilled to return to monarchy in the Riverlands, and you may choose to rule as a council of lords and ladies. There are other places...like the North who still have a ruling family that they choose to follow. It is up to you to decide with your remaining leadership how you want your kingdom to function.” Jon clarifies his words. Reiterating what they are struggling to believe. 

“What is the rub? It seems as if we can have our autonomy...to never kneel before the Iron Throne, but we must have commitments to the Seven Kingdoms. How does that work?”

“You rule your realms as you see fit. You create accords and alliances as you always have. Trade and commerce has been what made the South wealthy enough to provide for its people, so why change that. Agreements have always been executed on individual account, the King or Queens of Westeros did nothing to stop you in that regard. All they expected were taxes to be paid. Why should that discontinue? Now you take that tax and you return it to your own kingdoms...empowering it so that mayhap it will never be taken away from you again.”

“What do you want in return?” Lord Errol demands.

Jon looks to Sansa. “My sire’s family has historically taken from the people of Westeros. I was raised by my mother’s kin who lived by the opposite ideals...even though my mother’s actions differed from that. I do want to return what was taken from you because that is the right thing to do. You all have suffered in some way under the rule of the Iron Throne, and the person who deigns to sit on it. Recent events have not lent you any reprieve from that understanding.” He turns his head to see Daenerys eyeing him stoically. “The people of the North, the Reach, and of Kings Landing have felt the direct repercussions of Daenerys Targaryen’s actions. And as her only living male relative I have given her my protection, but I will not give her access to this kingdom. You have all paid enough for your freedom, all I ask is that you allow me and my family to walk away with ours.”

“An accord, no retribution from either side, and our autonomy as payment for her crimes.” Edmure Tully calls out.

Jon nods. “I will relinquish Dragonstone as well. My sire may be Rhaegar Targaryen, but his name it is not one I wish to carry. I will not claim the name Targaryen any longer, and it will die with Queen Daenerys.”

Hushed murmurs rises among the crowd. Eyes on Daenerys, he sees her subtle nods to the questions glances. 

“And what are you to be then? Are you leaving Westeros?”

“We still owe a debt that we would like to repay, and in doing so, work towards keeping the continent safe as the world is expanding and trade will bring foreigners to our shores. My reputation as a warrior is not a silent one. I do not say this with ego and hubris...just as a fact of information. My life was to be lived in servitude of some kind. Originally I had thought that would have been the entirety of my life in the Nights Watch, but in a weird twist of fate I completed my oath, and was freed from it. Then that service changed to secure help and ready the people, to battle an old threat that came from the North, but which held the potential to destroy the South. Now as time moves us to this summit, I still want to serve. I am a fighter...a good one. I fight not for just myself or the North, but for everyone. It is my application that you consider creating a neutral army. I am not saying to ignore a party of defense for your own realms, but an army of people who are aligned with the continent is vastly different that those aligned to their personal allegiances. I bid you send me your bastards, male and female, and I will home them, train them...give them purpose that will benefit us all.”

“Where would we send them? Essos...so you can build your army and return to kill us with our own people?” Said a woman wearing a lamb on her sigil.

“We need a force that is dedicated to the protection of the people on this continent. What came from the North could rise again, as it has before. It is a threat that could return, and those who have seen it will understand the importance and value of such an army.” Jon reinforces, but then addresses the question before him. “No, I would not ask you to send them to Essos. As I have given up Dragonstone, I will ask the North for assistance one last time.” Sansa’s blue eyes darken, Jon finds it hard to continue, but he does. 

“During my time in the Night’s Watch, Jeor Mormont took me under his direction...and gifted me his sword because he saw promise in me. Not so long ago, his niece, the recently deceased Lady Lyanna Mormont advocated for me to be King in the North because she saw promise in me. And though he was a shame to his family, a changed man returned in Jorah Mormont...and he refused to take back his family sword but rather asked me to protect my family with it...just as his father would have wanted. In the wake of the Long Night, House Mormont is gone, and though I cannot bring back their line I can maintain their home in their honor. Bear Island and its residents are without protection and I hold their sword. Let me reside on Bear Island, let me take those who are raised as bastards...I will find their potential...just as the leaders of that land found it in me.”

The room shifts its attention to the delegation of the North, Jon sees Sansa staring at him and in turn does not see Bran’s head tilted towards her, or Arya and the Northern contingent as they await her decision. Tearing her gaze away, she looks to Bran and a silent conversation ensues. He sees Sansa expression; she does not want to decide this. She turns to Arya and the visage remains the same. 

“We were not sure of your plans, ...” Bran speaks. “...but we had thought this might have been a possibility. The North has made it decision on who its sovereign should be. The North knows no King, but the King in the North, whose name is Stark. It has been agreed that we were happy with this leaders reign as an unspoken queen before you withdrew it.” Sansa face becomes impassive, and Jon finds it harder to read her thoughts, but he can still see them. She is scared, she is unprepared for this. “Never to bend again, King Jon, should we retain our autonomy once again, we will put it in the hands of the King we should have chosen before you...Lady Sansa Stark.” [2]

“A woman cannot be a King. You can select a Queen, but she can never be a King.” A Westerland lord spoke, sharing the view many seem to hold. 

Lord Manderly rises from his seat. “And this is why we have named her so. When one thinks of a queen, there is a certain expectation of subservience to the men in her court. It is unprecedented in the court of a king. Which is why in hindsight we chose Jon Snow...at the time the known bastard of Eddard Stark, over his true born daughter. The North will not be blinded again by such faulty logic again. In this new age, we will have a King and she will be accorded all the respect that her male counterpart would receive. You do not have to do this for yourselves, but it will be the way for the North. 

“It is a foreign concept held only to you, Westerling. In Dorne our prince or princess are treated the same. There is no guarantee that a man will rule better than a woman. In our history, our fiercest leaders are women. It seems the time has come to choose a person who is the best individual for the job at hand regardless of what dwells between their legs.” A lord baring the Yronwood sigil declared to the crowd.

Through the exchange Jon keeps his gaze on Sansa. From the moment her name was said she had seemed to fall into a hole. She seemed gone from them...from him. He could only imagine what she is feeling. Last he had heard from her, she said she would not come South, her decision clear not to attend the summit. Yet here she sat in the very place she claimed she wanted to avoid, and with a kingdom that wanted her leadership.

Jon rises from his seat to address the group once again. “I have given you my offer of independence and autonomy, all I ask in return is Bear Island, and the peace between us. I know there is anger, but neither I...” he looks pointedly at Daenerys, “...or my family will seek any further bloodshed.” He looks at each table of delegates. “You cannot afford it. We truly do not want it. Define how you want your realms to work. Discuss a plan for how trade within this new kingdom shall come to be. Identify where you need aid. Queen Daenerys is willing to offer aid in food to recompense the loss you’ve sustained in the Reach. If it is coin to help care for the victims in Kings Landing, then she is in a position to assist with that as well. If we can come to terms. Then you can have your freedom.”

Lord Marbrand voice raises above the din in the room. “And if we don’t want to follow your proposal. What if we want vengeance for what that dragonrider did to Kings Landing?”

Jon can hear his voice becoming colder by fractions of degrees. “Then we might leave, and you may continue as you are...a country soon to be in debt with perhaps little help from the Bank of Bravos. But then again unstable countries are unpredictable places to put money into, so most of you may not secure any financial assistance from them...becoming reliant on your wealthier neighbors who in time will absorb you resulting in your loss of whatever identity you have left. Another option is that we stay and try to fix our mistakes from a position of power, and the Targaryens may rise again. You have our proposal. There are very view high houses and just as fewer lower ones. Take the sennight, have your conversations, make your decisions, find your allies, and identify your most important demands. We will reconvene in seven days, or sooner, to discuss it.”

Jon nods to what remains of the ruling families of Westeros, and walks out of the chamber with Daenerys by his side. His eyes catch Sansa’s as they exit the room, and he is acutely aware that he most ardently wishes she was also walking beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] This is one of my favorite speeches by Theodore Roosevelt called Strength and Decency. 
> 
> [2] I took this idea from a true historical figure. Egypt’s first female king was called King Sobekneferu. She ruled with a man’s power and refused to be held to traditional gender roles. There have been a couple more female Kings that ruled over Ancient Egypt. 
> 
> People are having strong feelings...I might have to stay away from my inbox for a bit...yikes!


	44. Daenerys XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The summit continues...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing...

As Daenerys walked beside Jon and out of the chamber, her heart pounded as hard as the stone ground beneath her feet. It was done. She thought she would feel differently having heard Jon speak the words that undid all their ancestors has built, but she felt nothing. Not anger, sorrow, dismay, outrage, happiness, joy...she acknowledge a void where her feelings should reside. 

The decision to return the Seven Kingdoms was not one Jon made independent of her. Their conversations, since his return had brought up her motivations for reclaiming the kingdom, the reasons for why retaining realm as it had been controlled before were no longer justifiable. He reasoned how the best course of action would be to acknowledge her violence and the toll it has taken on the realm, and then recompense the realm, by returning what was taken by Aegon I, with a treaty. All parties acknowledge that a ceasefire of revenge will be universally understood and adhered too. 

Jon made it clear that he would not leave Westeros. He may not have said the words, but he did inform her of Sansa’s conditions...and her biggest was not leaving for Essos. Daenerys was initially hurt by her conclusion, but Jon made an argument that made her pause her thoughts, in this regard, that was rational and not emotional. He reminded her that she had enemies in Westeros and in Essos. She made a name for herself, and her Targaryen features made her recognizable on sight. It was her choice, to be so known, but in doing so any child of hers would always be a means to bring her to heel. Their child would never escape it. 

If they went to Essos, he doubted their ability to hide. They had no family, no protection there. They would need to keep the Unsullied and the Dothraki near, and their appearance would just serve as a beacon to those looking for her. What kind of life could their child have? Always needing protection as the offspring of Queen Daenerys. How removed from people would their child have to be for them to be _safe_. 

In Westeros, even if they failed to reach an accord at the summit, they could head true North and be lost among the Free Folk. The Southerners were not prepared for the elements that far North, they knew very little of its terrain, and layout of settlements. While there would be Northerners who would still despise her, their hatred for the South is stronger. Centuries of distrust between the various parts of the realm live longer in the memory of the North, than the actions of a woman who destroyed the capital and used Northerners to do it. 

When she questioned whether it could be that simple to just get lost among the Free Folk, Jon reminded her that Westerosi families have a pattern of behavior in which they betray each other and yet find themselves hiding behind alliances to improve their standing. All done in an effort to better align themselves with whomever sat on the Iron Throne. 

He continued to reason that while this practice is more prevalent in the South, it has impacted the North on occasion, but through it all most Northerners will always lean toward the Starks in all things, just as the Vale will follow the Arryn who stands as the head of their house. With the removal of the throne perhaps the people will focus on improving their homes, providing a reprieve that he knows they don’t deserve. 

She could hear is voice now. “Logic would dictate that most Northerners and all Free Folk would not tolerate a Southern army marching through their territories. The South knows this, they wouldn’t bother, not for revenge...not when they would be focused on rebuilding their own territories. It was a callous approach to viewing it all, but the coldness of its rationale doesn’t mean it’s not an avenue we should not exploit if it meant that we could still be together, build a home and raise a family in the kind of safety and anonymity we would never experience in Essos.” 

In the event they should fall, her child would have family in the North, and should anything happen to them, their child would be cared for...despite all their parents follies...because they are wolves, they are a pack, and even though he stood as a lone wolf for a while, they still saw Jon, and their child by extension, as part of their pack. It would be easier getting her child to Winterfell from the True North, than getting her child from Meereen to Winterfell.

Clearly the arrival of _all_ the Starks demonstrated that they are a pack, and that their sigil is a large part of who they are. Whether she meant to or not, Sansa’s presence means something to the Houses in attendance. It told the realm that wherever the Starks stood, they would stand together. 

“Well that went better than expected” Tyrion’s words broke the silence in the solar.

“Did it? Were we in the same chamber just a few moments ago?” Dany chided the shorter man before her.

“Yes, I was, but clearly we have interpreted the same moment differently? Are you not still alive, your Grace? Have the people moved against you? No, they haven’t even though they have every reason to.” The dwarfed man rejoined, his voice sounding very...cross.

Walking over to the desk in the center of the room they just entered, she pours herself a cup of water, needing to wet her thirst. She turns to the men who accompanied her into the room. “Just because they haven’t doesn’t mean they won’t.”

“She’s right to be concerned, Lord Tyrion.” Davos stands beside her, offering her a small smile in support. 

“I am not saying she shouldn’t be. What I am saying is she should acknowledge that this first meeting could have gone worse, but it didn’t. Have you forgotten the smell of charred flesh or the forceful beating of your heart as you ran for your life as fire and mortar fell around you?” Tyrion lambasted. Jon sent him an arched look but said nothing.

“No, I haven’t and you damn well know that. All I am saying is she has a right to be concern.” Davos countered.

“Enough!” Jon called to them all. “We all have basis to be cautious, there is no need to debate the merits of it. We have planned for all manners of outcomes...their acceptance, their refusal, and attack. We have what we need in place. All we can do is wait. The ball is now in their court. We all know this. Accept it now and cease your complaints on the matter, for they are fueled by wild emotion and not logic, and all it does is create more manner of doubt.” 

“I was not complaining Jon. I am well within my right to express my opinions.” Daenerys fumed as she glared at Jon. 

“Perhaps some distance might be in order, Jon. Emotions are high, we haven’t turned on each other yet, there is no reason to begin now.” Davos stated, resting a heavy hand on Jon’s shoulder. Dany grateful for his deflection. Most days she doesn’t know if she wants to laugh or cry, and the emotions the summit is pulling out of her are all outside of her ability to control. 

“Aye. Perhaps you’re right. I need air.” Without another glance at her, Jon walked out of the room, leaving her no doubt as to where he was going. 

“Is “air” another word for Sansa Stark?” She murmured, not blind to Tyrion and Davos speculative look towards each other.

“My understanding is she had no plans on attending. Jon seemed adamant on this fact. I imagine something must have occurred after his departure to sway her so.” She queries to the men, wondering if either one of them could bring her clarity on this subject. 

“I doubt Jon would have to use another word. My thoughts lead me think he was just as affected to see her here as we are. It makes sense he’d want to collect his thoughts before seeing her. May hap he will see her after...but in this moment I do not think that is the case.” Tyrion speculates, his brow lined in thought. 

“I would think in a moment like this, his thoughts would be to stay with me.” She whispers, embarrassed to let those thoughts show. 

“Well currently we have Unsullied and a hundred Northerners serving as protection at the behest of Brandon Stark, our escape plan in place...with your detail currently with you. You are the most protected being here, and least deserving...save for the child you carry.” Tyrion tells her. 

“Seeing as that man is working to help us all retain our heads; I think it would be prudent to have him as the face of our amnesty. The Lords and Ladies need to see him. He looks of the North; he looks like a Stark...and that pulls at people’s sentiments. The Northerners may be cross that he bent the knee and that he took his army South, but they also know what the Night King brought to their lands...and he was the face that unified the largest army Westeros has ever seen in order to defeat the largest threat this continent had ever encountered in living memory. They may be torn about how they feel about him, but they are clear on how they feel about you...and me.” The Last Lion sigh, shaking his head sadly. “Staying put while he roams is the best thing for us.”

“The man who hates diplomacy...that’s where our fates lie.” Daenerys remarks sardonically, her doubtful expression read and understood by Tyrion.

“Unfortunately, we have literally burned all our bridges, Daenerys, he is our only option.”

***

‘Fire and Blood’ for it would have fit in with the savageness of the Dothraki culture...the same culture that sanctioned slavery and rape. If he had not been taken ill, she wonders if he would have completely relented to her quest to stop slavery and the abuses it incurs. She does not think he would have...but then he had seen her as “The Moon” of his life...perhaps there were conditions after all.

Then she thinks of Jon, and though she had felt betrayed by him...his actions were not a true betrayal. She had altered her commitment, the one he swore to, and in doing so she broke her word and freed him from his. Much like when her father burned his grandfather...the oath that had been in place between the Targaryens and the Starks died that day, along with the Lord and his heir. 

As she compares what she knows of romantic love, she wonders if Jon’s love is truly conditional. Perhaps conditional is the wrong term, because isn’t love supposed to make you better. Jon wants to be a better version of himself, it has always seemed to be his trajectory. While he by no means is perfect in his endeavors it is an intrinsic target for him, and she finds herself loving this side of his character more deeply. It is more like Jon looks for that character in her, and he has no qualms challenging her about the misconceptions she has about herself. She know he does not do this to shame her but he does so because she has expressed how she wants to be a better person. 

After Drogo, she never thought that she would feel so deeply for another. Jon was never in the cards for her...much like their child. 

A flawed love, an imperfect one, as her mind wanders to the woman who holds half of his heart. As if by thought alone she could conjure the woman, Daenerys sees the familiar crimson crown of the newly chosen King in the North, Sansa Stark. 

Walking up to the woman who recently occupied her mind, she stood beside her, words unspoken. Both women looked out onto the river, neither one saying a word, both finding comfort in the silence. “It is a quiet night is it not, Lady Sansa, or is it King Sansa.” 

“Just Sansa will do, Daenerys, for I am not in the mood for such games those titles insist upon.

“Sansa it is.” Having clarity on the reason for Sansa’s arrival to the summit, eased very little in her, for Dany did not know truly how she wanted this to end. She had fears she didn’t feel comfortable expressing to Jon because he would persist in that they could surmount her concerns. For a pessimistic man, he could be a bit of an optimist. They return to quiet once again, with the sound of small river fish trout jumping in the water. 

“My mother used to speak of the Riverlands. Her happiest childhood memories were of her home. She used to sit at the window and watch my grandfather leave for every war, praying for his return. Many times, she just sat on the bank of the river and watch the water travel downward. The Riverlands were a place she found great pride in herself and in her family.”

Daenerys had heard that her brother, his wife, and their unborn child’s remains had been discovered and recently unearthed. Her mother though, it seemed was lost. Dany never knew her mother and that loss pains her. She couldn’t imagine what Sansa is feeling...to know your mother, be loved by her, and to learn she had been slaughtered and discarded. Her resting place non-existent. 

“I heard about your brother and his family. It seems like the remains will soon be ready for departure back to Winterfell.” Dany could see Sansa nod her head in acknowledgement. “I also heard about your mother.”

“They threw her in the river, my brother said they threw her in from around here. The Frey’s lured her into safety...corrupting a custom held closely to many in the Seven Kingdoms. They took her life and as though she was found lacking like an unworthy trout, they threw her away. I grieved for my mother long ago, yet being here for her and my brother has disturbed the peace I have made to build a life without their presence. At times the pain returns when I least expect it to, in the most debilitating of ways.”

Daenerys is not sure what to say. Beside her stands a woman who she has little affection for, yet whose pain is so palpable she can’t help but feel compassion for her. “I understands how it feels when the pain and grief is a real living thing. My first husband and child...their deaths shook me and altered my world. When you suffer a shock of a loss so violent there is no escaping the changes it brings to you.”

“Then you are well-versed now in why the people of the South should hold firm in asking for your head.” Sansa continues to look at the water before her. “We are changed...from the wickedness of the previous monarch, to the insidiousness of the Northern threat, and the brutality of conquering the South...we are a nation of people changed by violence.” 

“Personally, I would not wish it for myself. It will not happen, cannot happen...not while I am with child. Afterwards, though only the fates know what is in store for me.” Daenerys surmises. He can see Torgo standing closer than he had before. Ever watchful, ever her protector. “Well the fates, and perhaps you.”

Sansa remains quiet under Daenerys side glance. “I find that while I do not love you Daenerys, I also do not hate you. I have no love for the South and I won’t stand here and pretend that I do. I can acknowledge the horror that the innocents were condemned to and the travesty of it all, but I would be a hypocrite if I were to say that losing the North to extract vengeance for a place I despise is worth the price. It is not.”

Daenerys finds herself not completely surprised by Sansa’s reply. Restoring Northern independence was paramount for Jon. He mentioned a conversation with the woman beside her, in which she shared that the North was not unique in this desire, and proposed granting it to the other realm. “While you and your ilk may feel that way, there is more than just the North I must contend with.”

Sansa glances at Dany, gesturing for her to walk with her. The women making their way back up the river and to the keep. “Most people outside of the Crownlands, hells, outside of Kings Landing don’t truly care for what happened in the South. There are more common folk than highborn in each realm. What we all share in common is how fearful we are of what you can do with your dragon. That being the source of our fear more than anything else.” Sansa sigh pulls Dany’s gazed towards her. 

“If protection from the worst of that could be guaranteed, then most people would prefer to just move on and away from any form of vengeance because the personal cost to them is too high and frankly not worth it. Think about the families who lose fathers and sons who work the land for food, the mothers who now have to find work to provide shelter and sustenance for their children, the children who become orphaned because the consequences of war took their parents away. This means that agriculture or production dies, making no income for the realm, increasing hardship for everyone.”

Dany thinks about Sansa’s perspective. While she agrees that it is the common people who suffer the most, she also knows that there are reasons people will take up arms. “You once told me that people would be willing to die for their principals. They could be willing to resume battle once again for what I have wrought the Capital.” 

Sansa nods in agreement. “That is true, but to what end would their taking arm be for. What I and my bannermen were willing to fight for was our independence. It is a worthy cause in which great sacrifices are made. It impacted everyone...high and low. But now with you, I ask why would they rise? The benefits are just not worth it to the common man, not when they are being given their freedom.”

“That is a very unsympathetic way of looking at all of this.” Daenerys muses on Sansa previous words. 

“It is a cold and calculated way of looking at the world, I know, but it is how I see it in the aftermath of my life experiences. If circumstances where different, then you would die for this...as you should. I do not say this to argue with you. I am just stating a political fact. The reality is we do not want to continue as we have been. This nation cannot continue down this path. Winter is here and slated to be the worst we have ever seen; the best course of action is to return home and care for our people the best way we can.”

“Winter will not last forever. People will always remember; they could come back to this if they do not agree to let it pass.” Dany murmurs a thought she had said quietly to herself. 

Sansa scoffs, drawing Daenerys away from her. “In time people will move on. It may not be fair or right, but it has been the pattern of our behavior. I mean look at our history. Your family took 8000 years of rule and dissolved it, for no other reason than personal want. My family faithfully served...look at Cregan Stark...Hand of Aegon III, he had been promised a Targaryen princess to marry into the Stark House, but none ever did. Yet we served. The Martells they too served the Targaryens, and even with intermarriage were still treated poorly, then the Lannisters rose, the family directly responsible for the deaths of their sister and her children, what do they do. They served, in disquiet, but they served.”

“I am not asking them to serve me, nor Jon. We are not asking for that...not any longer.” Feeling her babe’s restlessness, Dany wonders if this is the child’s response to her own feelings.

“I could list countless acts people have committed towards each other. We do horrible things to each other, and we let it pass. Sometimes there is retribution and sometimes there isn’t. It might not be fair, it might not be just, but it is how we historically handle our national discord. This time should prove to be the same...the only difference is now people will work towards serving their own realms...and whatever good or bad that befalls them will be a consequence of their own making.” 

Reaching out a slender hand, she pauses Sansa’s stride. “People tend to be benevolent when things are good.”

Sansa’s eye lowers to the hand on her arm, before to raises her gaze to meet Dany’s. “Yes, they are. Baelish once told me that chaos was a ladder that one could climb to greatness, if they knew how to climb. We are in the largest systematic state of chaos this continent has seen in centuries, and for the first time in a long time each realm will be given their own ladder to maintain. Whether they climb or fall is entirely up to them. Their gains and losses will have nothing to do with you. In time each region will rewrite their history, and you will be written out, and that will be their primary focus...not you.”

Daenerys ponders what Sansa just shared with her. She doesn’t doubt the sincerity of the woman’s words, “I defer to you in the annals of how the Westerosi resolve conflict. I guess it’s not very different from the rest of the world. I guess I am struck by how disconnected people seem to be from each other until someone makes a point to disrupt their world, leaving them no choice but to act.” Rubbing the side of her belly, where her child insist on drumming incessantly with what she thinks is a foot, Dany find herself asking Sansa how she plans to act now that she is thoroughly disrupting her world. 

“Speaking of disrupting someone’s world and leaving them to act, I have spoken with Jon. It seems we are left to have a conversation of our own.”

Sansa arches a slender brow at her. “Yes, it seems as though we do. The idea of this is largely unknown to me. I do have boundaries that are very clear to me and others that aren’t as firm. I have made it clear to Jon that I would be willing to see if I could be with him, knowing he is also with you, but I will not abide by leaving Westeros. If he, and by extension you, are willing to try then you need to know that.”

“And if leaving was what was best for our babe’s survival?” Dany questioned, knowing her own reservations about leaving, curious as to Sansa’s answer.

“Then I guess you would need to leave. But I will not go. I have no cause that I can see that would ready me for that opportunity...no matter how much I love him.”

Daenerys nods. “Anything else?” 

“I will not be disrespected, never again...not by him or by you. If you do, I will leave. Now one might say that is a lot of power to offer you...this knowledge, but should you abuse it, Jon will know and it may result in your own loss of the man. In either a physical loss or an emotional one. Nothing sounds worse than a woman bound to a man who has grown to dislike and despise her. If Cersei were alive, I’d have you speak to her about it...it was a topic she was very well-versed in.”

“Careful to heed your own words, Sansa. Jon could feel the same should you turn such tides towards me.” Daenerys was caught off guard by the sharply worded tongue. 

“Agreed. All I am saying is we both carry power in this relationship, that may manifest itself in different ways, but power all the same. If we choose to abuse it, then we will lose Jon in some way. That should be enough to temper our feelings towards each other. I will admit I struggle with the idea of sharing him, but I love him. I love being with him enough to try.” 

Daenerys found no fault in Sansa’s logic. Whether the outside world saw the equity in the power each woman wielded was irrelevant. They knew. Sansa had to see it when she saw Jon working to keep Dany safe when he probably shouldn’t...when she saw Dany heavy with his child. Dany saw it when Jon traveled for months on end searching for Sansa instead of staying with her...when he told her leaving Westeros was not the best option...when he declared reversing Northern sovereignty with absolute rigor because he wanted to give that back to Sansa. 

“Shall we agree to be direct in our communications and our reasonings. Agree to not be the reason the other decides to leave.” Daenerys quietly asks. “I love him. I do not think I will find another like him. You seem unsure, and I do not fault you for that. His idea is extreme. But should you decide to leave, I do not want to carry the burden of your departure. I am motivated not to.”

Blue against violet. They extend their accord. “As am I.” Sansa admits. 

Feeling a sharp kick, that had her reaching out for Sansa’s hand as she doubled over, her breath rushing out of her lungs. 

“Daenerys are you okay?” Sansa’s voice laced with marginal concern. Her eyes watchful on Dany’s form. “My Queen.” Torgo rushes up to help her. 

“Yes. It seems there is very little room left for the babe to find any comfort, yet they insist on finding it, even if it means my internal organs must be moved elsewhere without proper notice. 

“You look very far along. Do you know when this babe is due?” Sansa inquires.

“Yes, I should deliver this month, by the turn of the moon.” She declares, as she controls her breathing, to find equilibrium once again. 

“You should not be here. Bed rest is where any maester would tell you to be.” Sansa admonishes. 

“I agree!” Torgo follows.

“That is not my fate, Sansa. I must see this summit to the end, Torgo. I must remain.” Dany voices firms with resolve. 

“Well rest assure it will conclude quickly. The Houses adjourned today’s meeting with their own proposals, and counter demands. I am sure your envoy has been notified that you and Jon will be expected at tomorrow’s meeting.”

Daenerys freezes, her heart pounding, they are closer to the end. Did she truly want it to be resolved as quickly as it has? Was it really quickly at all considering the months it took to get there? Was she ready for the next steps? Return to rule in Essos, exile in the upper North, or a simpler life of a home and family on Bear Island. 

The time had come for Daenerys ‘Stormborn’ Targaryen to continue the story that the fates had written in the stars a long time ago. Her options where too many and still not enough. And much like her impending birthing, it was an event she could not postpone, avoid, or ignore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the women talked...
> 
> Jon and Sansa may seem callous about the South, but they are also realist. 
> 
> Jon and Sansa have learned their country's history. She has had her own personal experience with Westerosi politics. While she can recognize that justice should occur, she understands what motivates most people who lack power or influence...and that is survival.


	45. Sansa XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion of the summit...decisions are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! This chapter is long. The reason for it you will discover as you read the chapter. Just remember it is the end of the larger story. 
> 
> I have enjoyed reading your passionate comments from the last several chapters. I've stayed away from comments as not to reveal any spoilers. The reviews have been mixed...but very passionate on either spectrum. 
> 
> I have to say reading your comments from the beginning has been a pleasure...whether we agreed or not on plot, characterization, motivations, etc. I appreciated the discourse...and the commitment to sticking with the story, even when it pushed you past your limits, many of you still stayed. For that I thank you!
> 
> All that is left are the epilogues that I will try to publish today before I head to a work-sponsored Thanksgiving dinner ;)

Walking into her tent where the Northern and Eyrie armies set camp, Sansa found the space to be empty with the exception of her bed cot, furs, and a small chest of clothes...garments better suited to Lady Stark of Winterfell. She could and did thank her brother for thinking to provide such accommodations for her. When she decided to leave with the ship the day after Pod and Jayne arrived, she knew she had to carry light, and took the bare essentials of what she would need. Once the ship docked, she was able to take a horse the rest of the way South. Seems like Lord Manderly has sent a small band of men to take care of the ships and horses that seem to begin and end from Westwatch-by-the-bridge. Noticing the markings on this horse as the ones on Podrick’s horse, she smiled thinking of some part of her friend making the journey back South with her...no fitter a companion. 

Sansa removes her cloak, she sits gingerly on the bed, her eyes finding a small blemish on the canvased wall. She tries to focus on that inconsequential stain, if only for a moment, just so that her mind could slow its pace. Her goal of coming to bring her family home to rest in the Winterfell crypts has become complicated to say the least. To think that she could complete this task with little to no fanfare was foolish on her part, but she thinks there is a secret part of her heart that knows that. 

It was never her intent to integrate herself into the proceedings here. On the day she arrived, she asked a soldier from the Northern camp to direct her to the whereabouts of the Starks. When she followed the soldier to the keep, she had no idea that the man was directing her to the summit chambers. The moment the doubled door opened, her eyes were on the man who escorted her into the room, her hood blocking her sight, preventing her from seeing the inhabitants of the chamber until it was too late. Part of her wanted to turn about and walk away, but the other side of her knew the importance of that meeting and she knew that her presence and action would be observed by the other attendees. Sansa could not bring herself to walk away, to harm Jon in that way...for to leave so abruptly so would have done just that. 

So much occurred on that first day. Jon’s choice to dissolve the realm in apology, to have a neutral army, to leave the people to their mortal politics in return for a pact that does not ask the people to forgive the actions of Daenerys Targaryen and the armies she brought to Kings Landing, but to agree on a permanent ceasefire, the death of his family name, and an opportunity to make amends by keeping the continent safe from outside forces. It was more than her mind could fathom. In the end, Jon was trying to reverse his bending of the knee...he was trying to give the North back their freedom, and in doing so, the North now wanted to make her their Queen, or rather yet, King. 

How gladly she would have embraced that title after they had reclaimed Winterfell from the Bolton’s. She can admit that she knows that Jon needed to be King in order to secure the help they needed, if their bannermen had chosen her then she would have accepted that responsibility, but they would not have survived the Night King.

Being the ruler of the North doesn’t feel right to her...not anymore. She chose to traversed another path due to the circumstances she found herself in. The bannermen had made their choice, they chose Jon as their advocate, and in the aftermath of his reign she finds that following after him would seem...disingenuous...a mummer’s farce. 

After Jon had departed the chamber, she followed the Northern lords to their private chambers and listened to their reasons for their decision. Their arguments passionate, yet contrite, she found herself unmoved from her course. She expressed appreciation to the men, but declined the title and the responsibility that came with it. 

She put Brandon’s name forth and reiterated her desire to help the North, and the Free Folk who fought with them, by working to empower the North through shipping and trade. Then she asked if there was perhaps space for her to camp with the Northern army. She did not want to sleep under the roof where she lost part of her family, she didn’t want to see Jon or Daenerys...at least not then. 

Sansa lays down, closing her eyes, as she tries to picture her small home up North, the longhouse where meals are had, laughing with the women as they mended much needed items for the settlement, long walks with a few of the older men to discuss which trees would be best for the types of boats Manderly wanted to build. She thinks about hunting with her sister in the woods, walking with Jon, and finding privacy among the trees...she misses what her life is like in Frozen Shore. 

Recognizing within herself that politicking well and being immersed in it are two different things. She wants to use her skill in diplomacy to improve the life and standing of her home, but she wants the freedom of keeping her private life separate from the people who think they are due a part of her. There is a level of freedom you forfeit when you are in political power. Knowing this she will only play with as much as she is willing to lose, and what most don’t seem to understand is that this Sansa Stark that stands before them is willing to gamble with very little. 

While the Northerners were not happy with her reply, they seemed prepared for it, a reason she quietly contributes to Bran...for she thinks he had warned them that the likelihood that she would accept was small. When they acknowledged Bran as King, at her recommendation, it felt good...it felt right. In turn for not pressing the issue of her ruling further, they did ask that she stay for the deliberations with the other Houses.

Initially she had declined but Lord Manderly reminded her of her own words, “You told us you did not want to be our King, yet you wished to improve the North in other ways. Well the North is asking you Lady Sansa to assist us as we navigate our extraction from the wretched South, we do not know what we are not aware off. You know the South, or rather you knew it better than any of us. Between you and the King, we might be able to salvage our independence and broker fair alliances.” Sansa found it hard to turn away from that request, and so she stayed, and wished every day after that she hadn’t. 

Upon leaving the Northern chambers, she found Jon waiting outside the door. Her hope that he was there to see Brandon or Arya was dashed as soon as he said, “Sansa, may I have a moment of your time.” A moment she thought...she shouldn’t have been this happy and terrified to be alone with him, and yet she was. She followed Jon to a small balcony at the end of a long hallway. Once they were alone, they could only stare at each other until his arm shot out, pulling her close to him, his other hand in her hair as he brought his lips to hers. “Why are you here Sansa? You said you would not come?” He whispers against her swollen lips. “God it is so good to see you here, San...” His lips maul hers as she pulls him closer. She take one more kiss from him, before pulling away. 

“I came for Rob...and his family. Bran wrote to me after you left. I had to come for them.” She eyes Jon as he nods, his eyes looking so tired. 

“You gave the North back to the North...disbanding the realm.” She shakes her head as to clear it. “I don’t know if that is the stupidest thing you could have done or the smartest.” Jon laughed, his arms snaking around her waist. “You are not the first Stark woman to say those words to me.”

“Let me guess...Arya?” Sansa smiles softly.

“Aye.”

“Now that I am here, I still stand by my words Jon. I can’t be here for you like this. I love you but I can’t. Until this summit is over, you must stay your distance...and I will stay mine.” Sansa pulls his jerkin, crashing into another kiss, both of them trying to quench their thirst. They pull apart long enough for her to murmur, “Stay the course Jon for it is the right thing to do.” 

He pulls her head close to his, resting his brow against hers. They stay in that embrace until the sun leaves the sky, Jon searches for her mouth one last time, before he pulls away...leaving her with an imprint of his touch.

***

Jon has done as she has asked. The daily meetings are filled with arguments, debates, and negotiations. It seems as the newly minted Martell heir was the only other region, aside from the North, Eyrie, and Ironborn that found all the arguing to be senseless. Manfrey Martell, Doran’s younger cousin, and his bannermen argued that Dorne and the Dornish had never been accepted as full members of the Seven Kingdoms. They had always been seen as lesser, being that their Andal blood was tainted by that of the Rhoynar and therefore were not seen as true descendants of the Andals, such as the Northmen and Ironborn because they too were mixed with the people who first inhabited their lands. They had little qualm with disbanding and leaving the realm to figure itself out. “If all Jon Snow wants to do is return our homeland, the homeland his parents disrespected, so that he can move to an island in the North to be left alone, then the Dornish will be glad to comply. You people don’t care about us, you never have. Let’s be honest, you don’t want us and the feeling is mutual. End this hollow fight, and give Jon Snow what he wants, and be done with this.”

Sansa took in the man’s demeanor; he was sincere in his words. He could care less about the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. The terrain of Dorne has always protected them from invaders. They are one of the few places that retains most of their armies. As a costal country they have extensive trading routes to Essos, and an established economy that is disconnected from the realm. Dorne is well equipped to leave, and with a Martell back in power, they could afford to walk away.

“And what of the Dragon Queen? She still has a dragon, and could come for Dorne...and who would then come to assist you?” Redwyne spoke, his voice hardened. 

Prince Manfrey shrugged. ‘Whether you kill Daenerys Targaryen or not you will still have a dragon roaming the world. If she is here, risking her life and that of her unborn child, then I imagine she is motivated to leave us be. Her alive has a better chance of keeping the dragon from destroying us. Now if you could guarantee killing the dragon as well, then I could support the idea of asking for her head. You either need to plan to successfully kill both or you let them both live. Since you can’t secure that option, we in Dorne rather live in a world with someone who can control a dragon versus living in a world where a dragon has no connection to a living being. That is a scarier concept. Find your Maesters...go to the Citidel and learn about life was like in Westeros when dragons roamed unbonded.” 

The delegations spoke in whispered hushes among each other. Sansa could find herself wondering what would come of their world with unbonded dragons. Knowing that Drogon had left to hatch more of her kind. She kept this knowledge to herself, but wondered who would these dragons bond to. The Prince drew her attention once again. 

“Now the person this dragon is bounded to is of questionable judgement, of that I do not deny. She claims guilt and remorse, but on her word I would not bind myself. However, if Jon Snow is willing to monitor that she does not rise again, then perhaps I can accept that option better. I mean he is proving that he is not like most...Targaryens. He has taken command of the realm, returned the bulk of her army to Essos, and has exiled her dragon...all so that he can dismantle the Iron Throne. From the arguments we’ve heard from the North, their biggest complaint was his bending the knee and taking his army South to honor his pledge...though it seems she changed the terms once the battle for Kings Landing began, prompting him to overthrow her. Like I said...he’s not like most Targaryens.”

Sansa glanced at Bran, her brother’s face nonresponsive to the conversations before him, her sister standing in a corner...observing, waiting, learning. “And as for help? You forget that Dorne was never conquered. We fought against Targaryen rule once before with much success, we can do it again. In addition, like the other outliers in this realm, we have learned to do without assistance from you. Why would the Dornish expect your help now? If anything, it seems like with the loss of food supply from Highgarden, that you will need our help, but you needn’t worry...Dorne knows how to separate the personal from business. We can strike an alliance, if the price is right.”

“He’s right.” Baelor Hightower spoke, the man drawing the attention of the room. “The Reach and Dorne have been natural enemies for centuries.” Redwyne was eyeing the man warily. Sansa could see the Reach having much internal strife in selecting their governmental leaders. With the most formidable Tyrells gone, political power leans towards the Redwynes...close relatives to Lady Olenna, but the economic power resides with the Hightowers...as a major trading post and home to the Citadel.

“The Dornish Marshes border the Reach and the Stormlands; we have always found ourselves shedding blood there. What if we turned it to a place where we can make coin instead?” The Dornish Prince smiles much like a pirate, and looks over to Gendry, who has been quiet and watchful of the proceedings while talking privately with his bannermen and council. It seems that Gendry did not feel entirely right accepting legitimacy from Daenerys, he did go to Storms End after Tyrion and Davos wrote to the castellan of the keep, explaining that if they wanted a Baratheon legitimate or not, Gendry was the last. It seems as though his bannermen thought it fitting that he was a bastard, since Orys Baratheon...a bastard...was the founder of the family when he married Argella Durrandon. They wanted a Baratheon back, and so they named Gendry Waters, their liege lord. 

“What do you propose?” Gendry inquired; his voice strong. 

Hightower responds. “We make the border between our lands trade routes. Neutral territories. We take the percentage of the profits from the trade route and return it to the houses along the border for the use of land, to maintain the roads, and to keep the peace...incentivizing everyone to be on their best behavior. If raids and thefts occur, then no one receives payment. I will not lie; we enjoy the wealth trade brings our people and our city. It is a natural motivator for us.” 

Sansa found her brow arched, surprised at the suggestion. It is a sound idea, but unless Redwyne and the border Houses agree, then it will not succeed. Then again she doesn’t know if there are any remaining border houses left in the Reach or the Stormlands. If there were none left, each region could install people that would work towards a successful venture. 

On and on it went. Yara Greyjoy attempted to get the members of the summit to offer Daenerys another chance, to see her actions in the North rather than the ones she demonstrated in the South. She insisted on the realm adhering to a centralized voice. Her opinion was cut down from the most vocal opponents in the room. 

“Are you mad? We should be asking for her head...and not for the words and thought in it...but rather her actual head. It would be imprudent for us to never provide that woman an opportunity to consolidate power on the continent. Our goal should be to decrease her access for the possibility.” Lord Blackwood shouted. His face a pool of disbelief and horror.

“It is known Greyjoy that you sought your own alliance and brought this woman to our shores with your ships. While we may not be able to ask for your head without asking for a war in return, note you are not blameless. Take the independence you sold your country out for, find someone willing to do business with you and your wretched lot, and keep the rest of your comments about the Dragon Queen to yourself.” The voice of Lady Talla Tarly shook with anger as she stood, looking Yara Greyjoy, her face in a repose of barely restrained hatred. Her brother Samwell’s eyes reflected the same expression as he looked to the leader of the Ironborn. Sansa thought this lady has had to brusquely give up the lightness that came naturally being the daughter of a Lord, in order to be the leader her people need. Talla pulled something recognizable out of Sansa...a sorority that no woman asked to be inducted to. 

Yara returned to her seat, saying very little, Sansa thought the woman knew her attempt was foolhardiness at best. Though she wonders why Yara attempted at all. Was it not her brother who secured her rescue? Was it not Daenerys who left Yara to her own fate? If Yara was smart, then her goal should be focusing on diminishing the damage her alliance with Daenerys has brought her. While the Ironborn were never loved, no realm had really gone out of its way to disturb it. May haps the Westerlands, Riverlands, and The Reach might find an alliance in war...the enemy of my enemy. Her mind goes to Theon and wonders if it was a small blessing that he wasn’t here to witness this, but then if he had lived, where would he have stood. Gods how she misses the man. 

Her attention is pulled to the Westerlands refusal to treat with Tyrion. Sansa thought the man foolish for trying. The bannermen forbade him from attending the gathering, while the other representatives from that region made plans, and worked towards securing alliance with the Reach...particularly with Hightower. They had intentions of continuing their mining of the rich natural resources in their own mountains. “We are a small population, but currently have the best iron and forge the best weapons, that is something we can continue to sell to you...and to others.” Marbrand declared. 

“We would accept Jon Snow’s proposal only if we received Tyrion’s head. He could not remain a Lord in our kingdom...in our eyes he was a traitor to his family, his house, and the realm. Tyrion was tried as a kinslayer in absentia and found guilty. By his own actions he has branded himself untrustworthy, and we will have no part of him.” Westerling cautioned. 

“Why hold that as a concession? You could take your realm and do with Tyrion as you please.” Her Uncle Edmure Tully inquired.

“It must be done while we are still united. Queen Deanerys must give him up. She may have come here, but I doubt her reasons were too much of a surprise. She came to reclaim the Iron Throne, and he helped her. In doing so, she brought down fire and blood to our shores. He knew better...he chose...and there are consequences for that. Word has it he was her Hand...well, now she can lose it.” Westerling concluded.

“In reality, if we all asked for her head...he would not give it, but those attached to her, we might have a better chance at seeing their blood shed for the acts in the South.” Marbrand outwardly ponders, sipping a cup of ale. “Though that list isn’t plentiful as she did do us the service of removing Varys.” 

His words bring more discord and agreement, depending on which side of the argument you stood. Sansa had wondered why neither region forced the issue of demanding Daenerys head, but Marbrand said it best...Jon would not yield it. Its best to negotiate for what you truly can get, and since Jon is giving them more beyond personal vengeance it has put them in a position of tempering their counter offer. 

Sansa knows that Jon has plans to get Daenerys to safety either to reside with the Free Folk or back to Meereen, and this group must know this on some level. Though if they force Jon to leave, by requiring her head, they are not equipped to handle the return of Daenerys should she want to come back. Though Sansa and her brother know that she doesn’t want further war, in their mind Daenerys could return with her army along with her sell-swords, and perhaps this time Jon will not stop her. These regions do not have the armies...save for Dorne and the Eyrie. They cannot afford the chance, even if they truly wanted it, even if Daenerys actions warranted it. 

The Eyrie desired to return to the days of following and Arryn King of the Kingdom of Mountain and Vale. They would continue to work with the North and the Riverlands when duty called, but they wanted to leave the obligations of politics that came with a larger realm. The fertile land in the valley of their mountainous region has always been more than enough to sustain them, and they have the sea to the East. Young Robyn stood tall and strong as he spoke for his people. 

“Should the day come that another threat, one just as devastating as the Night King, returns to Westeros, then the Eryie promises to rise and fight for the continent as it has proven itself to do before.” Sansa never met her cousin’s father, Lord Jon Arryn, and what she had known came from her father...for he loved the man who was like a father to him. She’d like to think that despite all the paths that directed her cousin otherwise, Robyn Arryn was a worthy heir to such an honorable man. 

Robyn looked towards her and Bran, “Our only concession, since Jon Snow agreed to let the Targaryen name die, was that he and Daenerys are banned from ever setting foot in our kingdom. To do so without invite would be under the penalty of death. Only an invite could be extended during an exceptional time, just as the one that has passed. Though I doubt we will see another like it again within our lifetimes.” 

The murmurs of agreement rang like the bells in Kings Landing...loud and clear...leaving no room for interpretation.

***

As the days continue Sansa questioned her presence in these chambers. She listens and observes, but has not participated in the conversations. While the discussions sound productive she wonders if it will all come to pass as they have intended. Choosing a peaceful path during war...when emotions are stretched to their thinnest point, can lead to plans that may not be possible to implement when emotions are calmer. Emotions here are elevated while shrouded in civility, she quietly laughs to herself...much like court in Kings Landing. The exception being there was no King or Queen to satisfy.

The proceedings continue, the Crownlands decide to remain their own region, rather than reverting parts of the land back to the Stormlands and the Riverlands. The remaining Houses there have made a name for themselves in trade...their population a thriving merchant industry, one they look to continue once Winter has ended. They also asked for Daenerys to pay for the maintenance of the displaced people of Kings Landing. A demand for some type of restitution for their loss of home and livelihoods. Lady Stokesworth addressed the hall. “It is unfair for the total burden to fall on a newly established realm, not when the substantial damage was caused by her.” Tyrion’s death was also a non-negotiable point. 

The Reach seems closer to an agreement, with the Hightower’s maintaining the cultural and economic center of the region and the Redwyne’s controlling the agricultural sector of the Reach. 

“The North seems very quiet. Other than selecting a Queen you name as King for yourselves, what concession do you expect Jon Snow to make to you. He is a Northman, and a Stark through his mother. Do you even expect concessions?” Lord Mallister asked, his yes firmly on her, and not Brandon who they know has accepted the mantle as king.

Brandon tilts his head, his empty gaze gifted in her direction, a secret smile on his lips, a subtle nod. Sansa take a deep, quiet breath as she collects her thoughts on how to address this Riverland Lord. “The North has made alliances with the Vale and Dorne to secure more food for the winter, and sand to build more glass houses so that we may sustain ourselves better in the future. The North has its own initiative to increase shipping and trade.” Sansa glances at Manderly, the older man puffing out his chest, nodding in support. 

“While Jon Snow is the child of our aunt, and raised by Eddard Stark, our lack of concessions come from more than being his blood kin. Duty is an awareness and a character trait that has been drilled into the core of Jon Snow. When he took the Black, he promised to protect the realms of men...to stay away from the politics of the Seven Kingdoms. When he discovered a threat North of the Wall, a threat we had only thought to be stories parents told their children to achieve a compliance in their behavior was indeed truth, he spoke it to any and all who would listen.” Sansa has command of the room. It is silent, with the exception of the wood burning in the two hearths located on either end of the chamber. 

“No one listened. No one would listen. Not until the threat came for them.” Whispered conversations began. “He protected the life of the Free Folk by granting them sanctuary below the wall, a decision he was well within his power to make as Lord Commander, and his men...his Brothers killed him.” The murmurs becoming louder. Sansa raises her hand to get silence once again. “There are enough people who witnessed it, saw his resurrection with their own eyes, I’ve seen the wound where the blades pierced him. I myself have touched the jagged edges of the wound on his heart.”

Sansa rises, take her ale from the table and wets her tongue. Taking a few moments to find reprieve from having to speak. “Most of you are aware of my history. When I escaped Lord Ramsey Bolton, I found myself under Jon’s protection. When he could have left he chose to stay in the North, and he fought for me and with me to get back our home. To free ourselves from the tyranny that almost destroyed our House and our people. A gesture he once again he almost lost his life for.”

Sansa looked up at Arya, her sister’s face impassive, her eyes unreadable. She knew though that these proceedings brought Arya much fear and anxiety. Yet her sister refused to let it show, for that was not her nature. She continued. “Even though we had gotten back our home, he knew the threat was still making its way South. He had secured the help of the Free Folk, he had the Northmen, and through my support...he had the Vale as well.” Sansa looked to Lords Arryn and Royce. The older man subtly smiling at her. 

“He needed more. He wrote to you, and none of you answered the call. Not able to wait any longer he went South to find help. That sent Jon on his path to find Daenerys Targaryen. His choice to bend the knee was his to make as our King...as was his right, and they are not up for a debate of merit between us.” Her brow arching when she could hear the challenge rising in a few voices. While his choice was a betrayal to her, and to the people who fought to secure their freedom, it was not for these people to cast a vote or opinion. They had no right. It was between her, the North, and Jon. It was an issue left between them, one in which he explained his reasons and motivations for...and while it is something she is still working to reconcile it is not for the rest of the realm to make judgment on. 

“He went back beyond the wall to secure proof for the South, an act that almost killed him, and there he presented it to Kings Landing to gather more support from Cersei, which if she would have kept her word would had have included your own men. But she hadn’t and we fought with the allies we had.”

Standing beside Brandon once again, “I know word has reached you all on the events that happen with the Night King. The stories are no longer myths in our world...the dead and dragons have come again. We live in a time when anything and everything we once knew could be upended.” 

Her eyes sweep the room, noticing expressions, cataloging this information for potential use. “Jon did what he did for more than just the North. He did it because the dead were coming for the living. If we had failed, then the wave of death would have made its way from Winterfell to Dorne. Though freed from his oath after his death, he kept to the promise _”to protect the realm of men”_ regardless of where that man resided. And when Daenerys altered her agreement with him, he remained true to his calling. Refusing to follow her course. He saved us. He saved us all and required nothing from the realm for it.”

Sansa allowed the weighted words to sink. The room remained silent, as the individuals in the room made circumspect attempts to observe each other. “What demands we make of Jon Snow? Well, while we respect your decision to never have him or Daenerys set foot on your land, we demand that he will never rule as King or serve as head of a House, he is to serve as our protector, just as he always has.”

“And Queen Daenerys?” Lord Royce queries. 

“While we recognize her assistance to the war efforts in the North, her actions in the South have made it impossible for us to allow her or her people to reside on the Northern Mainland with our people. The boundary begins South of the wall, since we have no authority above it. We will grant Jon Snow the command of Bear Island, where he will rise as a Lord Commander once again. Since it is an island, detached from the continent, Queen Daenerys will be allowed residence there should she choose to remain, but in doing so she must relinquish her title. She shall not be a Queen of, or in, the North...never again.”

“You’d give him a command...leave to build an army with your bastards?” Lord Errol words were laced with unsaid opinion.

“As I have said before, Jon has always thought to protect those who require it. Politics means nothing to him. If we want to be ready for such a threat, then who better to instill the principal of protecting the realm of men than the man who time and time again lives the creed. Remember what occurred before this. Remember how you didn’t heed the call from the North, which brought him to Daenerys Targaryen’s door, and her ultimately to yours. Send him your bastards. Allow him to train them, to give them an honorable purpose. Let that be your recompense for ignoring his appeal when the realm needed you most.”

***

After a long day of discourse between with the Lords and Ladies, a consensus had been found and a document forwarded to Jon and Daenerys with agreements to their concessions. Shortly after leaving the chambers with Bran and Arya, they had received the news that the remains of their brother and his family would be ready to depart in two days time.

“We will be ready to go home with him then. He has waited long enough to return.” Bran’s voice low and measured. “I am sorry I could not find Mother.”

“It is alright, Bran.” Arya grips his shoulder with her firm hand. A sad smile shadowing her face. 

The thought of her mother’s bones gone, and buried under the mud of the riverbed breaks her heart. She knows her brother’s abilities have some limitations, and he has done so much already...but there is a part of her, the girl, who wished she had a place to return to remember her mother. A place where Sansa knew a piece of Catelyn Stark still resided. 

Looking to find some privacy to mourn, she found herself in the company of Daenerys. The conversation not as horrible as she thought it would be. As they made their way back towards the keep, she was grounded in the reality that Jon and Daenerys were going to have a child. As the woman is clearly ready to birth the babe, Sansa knew Daenerys would have to depart immediately, for she requires a place to prepare herself for the task at hand. Perhaps the Neck...the keep is on the water...a loophole in the Northern demands.

As Sansa walked towards the Northern camp, she thinks about her actions during the summit...the direct and indirect ones, and she finds that after all is said and done, she can live with the stand she took and the fallout that may come.

***

It was as she walked in on the first day of the summit. The hearths were warming the chamber, sunlight poured in from the painted glass windows, the room holding stubbornly to the morning chill. As they were placed before, there were eight long tables placed parallel to each other, and hanging above each table were the banners representing their regions: Stark Direwolf, Arryn Falcon, Tully Trout, Marbrand Burning Tree, Hightower Stone Watchtower, Martell Sun, Baratheon Stag, Stokesworth Lamb. Laid direct across from the eight stood one table and without a single banner above it.

As the delegates began to fill up the room, Sansa once again questioned the wisdom of her attendance. “It is good that you are here, Sansa.” Bran leans over to whisper to her. “For now, when it ends, you can walk your path without regret, Sister.” His warm hand squeezes hers. Sansa sends him a tumultuous smile, whispering to her brother, “I may not know how things will end, Bran, but I am grateful to be with my family...for I have missed you.” Brandon smiles, their moment broken by the entrance of Jon, Daenerys, Tyrion, and Ser Davos. 

Sansa watches as they are seated, she notices Grey Worm stands directly behind the heavily pregnant woman. It seemed to Sansa that Daenerys was looking paler than usual...her skin almost translucent. Sansa’s eyes sought Jon’s; his face indecipherable but it does nothing to hide the tension radiating in waves off of him. His eyes meet hers, and in this moment they aren’t Jon and Sansa, they can’t be...not yet. He offers a restrained nod, returns his gaze to those seated before him, and addresses the audience. 

“Queen Daenerys and I have received your concessions. We can see that you have accepted the responsibility of leading your people and ruling yourselves. There are to be nine kingdoms, each stylized in their own manner...as some of you have chosen to return to your old names before you were invaded, and others have decided on keeping the titles you have.”

Daenerys clears her throat before she speaks, the sound echoing in the room. “The current borders remain, delineating the North from the South, and the land within each realm as it stands today. You have either identified a ruler of your own choosing, such as Dorne, the North, the Vale, the Westerlands, the Riverlands, and the Ironborn. While the kingdoms of the Stromlands, Crownlands, and The Reach have decided to rule as a council.”

“You have agreed to absorb the responsibility onto yourselves to maintain your kingdoms in a way that does not diminish the quality of life for all those who inhabit it. You shall work to ensure that your common people are provided for. Your liberation allows you to work independently from the other realms, in so long as any and all alliances do not bring danger or harm to the rest of the continent. Breaking this oath will initiate a call to arms, and that you all agree to honor. The decision in not doing so will lead to war brought to your realms. A council comprised of delegates from each new kingdom will convene yearly to maintain fidelity and readjust your political alliances as needed. This same council will also decide on the whether a realm has broken the pledge, and they will be the ones to negotiate, and if an understanding could not be met, then they would notify each kingdom to prepare their military.” Sansa watches as Jon wets his lip, for the man has found himself speaking more than he is familiar with. His deep breath the only sign that the stress of this morning affects him more than he lets on. 

“Each kingdom will be responsible for protecting and maintaining its borders, while agree to maintain and protect the roads which currently serve as the trade routes. If you should require it, you will seek my assistance in bringing food back to the continent.” Daenerys declares, as her violet eyes scans the room. Sansa wonders what she sees, the view from one end of a game board always looks different from the other. She wonders if the end would be as the silver-haired queen imagined it.

“While we have received our concessions, we have not acquired your demands or caveats. Who among you will speak on these terms?” Jon asked his voice wary, his gaze a reflection of his voice.

“I will.” All gazes turn to Samwell Tarly, the new castellan of Horn Hill. Sansa was not surprised by Sam’s desire to return home. Still a man unaccustomed to being the face of leadership, he has chosen to help his family by leading in the shadows...as an advisor to the head of his House...his sister, Lady Talla Tarly.

The rotund young man stands tall, back firm, gaze intense, as it meets Jon’s. “We demand the following that Daenerys Targaryen is put to death after the birth of her babe.” Gasped breaths came from only one side of the room, from the head table, Sansa eyed Daenerys as she put her hand on her swollen belly. She could feel Jon’s eyes on her, could sense them on Bran, subtly watched as they shift to Arya. The expressions on their faces neutral. While she thinks it painful for Jon to hear, she knows he can’t be surprised by it...ever the optimist.

“No.” Jon voice loud, but tempered. “Queen Daenerys death is not an option. Even if I had the desire to concede this, Queen Daenerys is a queen in her own right and has a kingdom outside of Westeros. She is not called queen because she came to conquer these lands. What do you think would happen when word is received of her execution? The army we sent back will return with more men, and without Queen Daenerys to stop them, we will need to be prepared for another battle. Let us be clear Lords and Ladies...we cannot afford another war...another that you will most certainly lose. So, choose another option. Is there no other recourse you propose that will satisfy this want?” 

Sam nods, “If you will not acquiesce to her death, then Queen Daenerys is exiled from the mainland of what was once the Seven Kingdoms, beginning south of The Wall to the end of the continent. The Iron islands exempts her from this penalty, and the North...though they have a caveat I will address later on. We demand that she send make arrangements with her kingdom in Essos to bring food to Westeros. Each realm will inventory what they have, and from there make request for supplies to be sent directly to them. We expect that she will send coin to offset the damages she caused the displaced people of Kings Landing. Funds can be sent to the Crownlands, and they will have the local septons allocated the funds to those in need. She will no longer hold the title of Queen in Westeros regardless if she seen as one elsewhere. We will not recognize it here, and it will afford her no further benefits. The exile also include her army, they are not welcomed either. If she or her men are found breaking these terms then Queen Daenerys will be hunted and killed...as breaking the pledge will be seen as her wish for us to proceed with her death.”

The silence in the room is so palpable that all that can be heard is the loud crackling of the fires. Sam does not pause. 

“We demand that you turn Tyrion Lannister’s over to the Westerlands or the Crownlands. He has already been tried for the death of his father and that of a servant woman who was employed in the Keep, and he was found guilty of kinslaying and murder. He will stand trial in the Crownlands for his actions against the realm he was sworn to. He will accept his fate. His acts of murder were committed and tried long before his treason. He cannot hide behind your blade or her skirts.” 

Sansa noticed the small expression that flit across Tyrion’s typically impassive face. He turns his head to look at Jon, both men’s twin expressions read as grim to anyone with sight. 

“Ser Davos Seaworth...” The older man stood up straighter. Sansa considered the sly fox might think himself untouched by the proceedings. _ Oh, no, good Ser. You all played a role. _ “While you actively chose to follow Queen Daenerys, there is very little debate on the efforts you made to support the whole of the North. The remaining Northern lords question the trustworthiness of your allegiance, for they have no misgiving about your fidelity to Jon Snow, they do wonder about your commitment to the people. They doubt you advocated for them, for their freedom, as you should have. They do not wish your death, but they do not welcome you back beyond their borders. Should you ignore this expectation, then understand that should you be found you will be imprisoned...indefinitely.”

The parlor on his skin seem just as pale as Daenerys, Sansa noted, while not a major supporter of Davos it was Bran and Arya who insisted on the man remaining South of the border. It seemed Bran witnessed instances where Davos’s acts drew Bran’s unease and Arya’s ire...well her ire, once Bran shared his observations with her. 

“As for you Jon Snow. You will relinquish Dragonstone as promised. On these shores, House Targaryen will die with Queen Daenerys. You will not take the name Targaryen. No children you have will retain the surname of Targaryen. While you are free to visit the Iron Islands, you are exiled from entering the South without explicit invitation. The North hold no limits on _you or your children_ to traverse the land, but you are no longer invited to live within their boundaries of the continent. The North will grant you Bear Island, and as you requested, they will send any displaced youth looking for a purpose to learn under your tutelage...as will the Eryie and the Riverlands. Other parts of the realm will reserve judgement in sending their own people to you. If you choose to make the island your home, then the realm acknowledges that Daenerys Targaryen may reside on it. Aside from the Iron Islands, Bear Island is the only place she can freely go in Westeros.”

Jon stands, walks to the front of the dais, turns slightly to the people seated there, before turning back to the rest of the room. “The options are exile away from Westeros or a type of banishment to Bear Island. Other than building an army that serves the continent, what do you ask of me?”

“Just that you help rebuild...from your island.” Bran declares.

Sansa can see Jon indecision. His eyes search hers, but she refuses to yield her thoughts to him. She told him her limits. She told him what she needed to try...she told him she would not leave. As he once told her, _“Your choice to be with me is your own.”_ The same advice applies to him. He has to choose. If he wants to at least attempt being with her, then it must be in Westeros. She will not be moved on this point. He has a decision to make, she will not sway him either way for it must come from him.

Firm that he saw nothing from her, he turns to Daenerys, her gaze sharp as they engage in some kind of silence conversation. Sansa could see a sheen cover Daenerys violet eyes. Jon turns to stare at the people present, his eyes searching Sam’s...perhaps another private conversation.

“Very well...from this day forward the Targaryen house and name will die. I will not stylize myself as Queen on these shores. I will stay away from the mainland, and only step foot on Bear Island as it reside in the Northern realm, while you acknowledge that I am free to go anywhere else outside of your political domain.” Daenerys stood; her unsuspecting voice echoed about the chamber. 

“Should you require it, I will honor my commitment to secure food to replace the stores I destroyed and I will send coin to help alleviate some of the hardships the survivors of Kings Landing are experiencing. I will not bring my army back, and I will return the ones that remain. I only ask that you offer, some of the men who currently remain with me, the option to stay on Bear Island, if only to work with Jon Snow. They will no longer serve me. I can offer you that, for these are some of the best trained men in the world, and should a threat return their knowledge in defense would be an asset. As for Lord Tyrion, I will ask that you spare his life, but take your justice in trade. He is a good man...flawed, but genuine in his desire to see a better world for us all. Choose to show him mercy, and allow him the opportunity to atone.” Returning to her seat, Sansa’s eyes the woman critically, her hand on her stomach...deep inhales and exhales. Sansa wonders if Daenerys is staying her strength to postpone birthing her child. Turning to her sister, their eyes tactfully meet, Arya nods as she leaves the room. 

“I swear an oath to never take the name of my sire. His house will never rise in my offspring. My children will be raised Northern, just as I was. I will take custody of Bear Island and its inhabitants, current and future. I will help you in any way that I can, as long as your request does not bring dishonor to my person or the people who follow me.” His gaze boring into each person where they sat. Their faces pensive. “I will stay out of your politics, you will stay off my island, but I will heed your call if the realm is under attack.” Sam breaks his gaze, as he looks at the people seated at his table, his lips drawn down...is countenance unhappy. Sansa feels for Sam, he has chosen his side, and never would he have guessed Jon would ever be on the opposite of it, but the bond between these brothers has been fractured beyond repair. 

“Very well, Jon Snow, and as for Lord Tyrion, what say you?” Prince Manfrey inquires, as the Lords from the Westerlands sit up in attention. 

Tyrion seemed older now, his life for so long had been focused to bringing his queen here, only to betray her. Sansa gathers that the man does not want to die, but he has no friends about to help him live...not really. “I will accept my fate.” Lord Marbrand scoffed. “We will see about that.”

“Queen Yara has agreed to sail the exile back to Essos. Once this treaty is signed you’ll have a reprieve of one sennight on our lands while Queen Yara sets her affairs in order. When she has informed the council that she is ready to depart, you’ll leave the following day, setting sail shortly after sunrise. Are we still in agreement Queen Yara?” Lord Mallister confirms.

“Aye.” The Ironborn queen shouts. Sansa notices the woman seemed a bit more somber than she had at the start of the deliberations. 

“It is the Northern delegations forbearance to grant Daenerys Targaryen a neutral place to birth her child. It does not take one with green seer sight to see that she will not be able to maintain this pregnancy longer than a sennight. We are not a realm of monsters. We can get you to Greywater Watch which lies on a tributary off of the Green Fork River. You can access it by river, birth your child, and when the maester deems you ready you will depart.” King Brandon Stark spoke as his sightless eyes looked in Jon’s direction, at times Sansa wondered if her brother could still see. Jon nodded what Sansa could only read as appreciation, for the child would still be part Stark...and part of the pack...just as its father is. 

“Queen Yara, if you would still provide the means to assist in transporting this woman to her final destination, leaving from the bay North of the Iron Islands before the Flint Cliffs trail begins. It is the fastest way to remove Daenerys Targaryen and those who protect her, off of the continent.” 

The Greyjoy queen eyes Daenerys before looking back at Brandon. “Aye. We can do that.” The ruler of the Salt Throne affirms. 

“King Brandon and Queen Yara, I know that my comfort, nor the comfort of my child should be of any consequence to you. For I recognize I do not warrant your empathy towards my condition. I am appreciative...grateful. I will not abuse the extension of your grace while I remain in your realm or on your ship.” Daenerys speaks to the newly selected monarchs. 

“I do this not for you.” Bran declares. “Neither do I do this for Jon. A child should _never_ be forced to bear the sins of their parents.”

Jon’s sigh carried over the audience, all in attendance are drawn back to him. Her gaze follows as his hand rubs across his lips, pulling downward as he tugs on his beard. “Well it seems we have an agreement. I know my words are not enough to compensate for the personal losses you have experienced over the members of my family...regardless if those injuries were intentional or not. It truly was not my goal to bring you more hardship. I..” He pauses as he briefly glances towards Daenerys, Sansa watches as he tilts his head his eyes search for hers...almost drowning Sansa in the storm behind his gaze, before looking back at the delegation of what used to the Seven Kingdoms. “..._We_...have faith that in time you will heal from this. May your homelands flourish without the stain of our thoughtlessness, and we hope that your reigns spend more time in peace than the alternative...for we all deserve it. 

***

As the sun rises over the hillside, Sansa stands beside the river as the wind whipped her hair in an easterly direction, all she thought was she could not believe that this part was...over. She tried to take stock of the outcomes of the summit and thought it a miracle of sorts that Daenerys was able to leave with her head intact. A realm for a life and the final end of an unwanted dynasty...she supposed. Pragmatism over nationalism. But not entirely unsurprising when the nationalism seemed false and forced most of the time. 

Tyrion’s fate, while unfortunate, seems poetic in a sense. The clever man she once knew lost his parts of himself that made him the best of the Lannister’s. In the end, he was his father’s son. Tyrion began to care about overriding his own family legacy to make a name for himself. It was his folly, his downfall. If only Tywin were alive to witness the fall of his family, she muses. The man was always so determined to seal his family legacy. Perhaps in a way he has, for the whole of Westeros will be hard-pressed to forget the name Lannister. 

In theory the people of what was once the Seven Kingdoms should be able to govern themselves in relative autonomy without a Targaryen or Lannister to lead them. Only time will tell how well they accomplish this. All she knows is she will not be in the South to witness it, for she plans to leave for the North as soon as she can. 

Turning away and walking towards the Keep, she thinks about the flurry of activity that occurred shortly after the meeting adjourned. Representatives from each party left to work together as they were commissioned to compose ten duplicates of the treaty to be ready for signatures the following morning. Each group left to their own camps, for there was much to do, as most wanted to leave as soon as they possibly could. There were also arrangements made for celebrations, one in which Jon and Daenerys were invited to, but not expected to attend. 

As the people reveled into the night, Sansa found herself seated in Jon’s chambers with Daenerys seated across from her. The chilliness in the room was undeniable, partially an indicator of the change in weather and partly because of the topic of conversation to come. Sansa looks at the physical beauty that is outwardly manifested in Daenerys Targaryen, she is aware of her beauty and find that Jon has very specific leaning towards a certain kind of woman. She wonders if he is aware of it. Both beautiful, both in command of people who chose to follow them, both with the ability to be dangerously vindictive. 

Sansa notices Daenerys’s eyes are on her, though what the woman is thinking is still held close to her chest. Both women turn their heads towards Jon as he seats himself on the chair that stands to the side of them. The man sits forward, he swipes at his beard, then places his forearms on his knees. 

“It’s over.” He looks towards Daenerys. “We secured a better future for ourselves than we thought possible.” Her silver-blonde head nods slowly, her eyes wide. Sansa could not tell if it was in disbelief or in hope. It has been an expression Daenerys has worn more or less since the conclusion of the summit. “Though I am sorry we were not able to help Tyrion.”

They all seem to be in personal thought about the man that influenced some parts of their lives. The short man spoke up, asking to be remanded to the Crownlands. Seems as though the man thought it fair he lose his head for Kings Landing, and not for the death of his father...he would not give Tywin Lannister the satisfaction in death of having his son executed where his father was once Lord Paramount.

After some time has passed, Jon turns over to her. “We now know our options and the limitations that come with them. It’s time that we talk...together. I know that I have been as honest as I can about what it is I want from you both. I recognize what I am asking for is irregular, uncommon, and you have every reason to demand an ultimatum for yourself...” his eyes swing towards Daenerys, “...or chose to walk away from me regardless of my feelings.” His eyes slide back to hers. 

“I am hoping that you don’t, but I am not so thoroughly blinded by what I want that I can’t see that these may be the options you will choose to propose. I am tired of fighting. It is not something I want to live my whole life doing. Teaching others how, that is not the same as waking up every day knowing that this day may be your last. I will fight to keep my family safe, because that is how I was raised. It is what I try to do.” Sansa could see how challenging sharing these deeper parts of himself brings him discomfort. For some reason it pleases her to see him unfettered, it’s not a trait associated with the Great Jon Snow. 

“I have always wanted a family, and as a bastard it was not a path I could actually have...not until I could.” His eyes and hand rest on Daenerys swollen womb, the pregnant woman’s hand rest on top of his. “Now that the opportunity to be a father is here, I selfishly want it all. I want the children, and I want them with the women I have grown to love. I want to be a husband to you. My desire to build a family with you both has not waned.” His other hand reaches for hers, his warm palm against her cool one, his fingers gently squeezing her own. Sansa’s eyes meet his as he brings her hand to his lips, her eyes burning with the tears she refuses to shed at his words and the gesture. 

Everything in her tells Sansa to deny him, but she knows if she does so, she will always wonder about the road not traveled. Even though she should not, it doesn’t mean she won’t, and that feeling carries its own set of burdens which can strangle you until you can no longer grow. 

“We have all declared where we stand, now it’s time for use to decide what we do next.”

“I worry for our child. I know that Meereen is an option, but there is current unrest there.” Daenerys states, her eyes cautiously move over to Sansa. “I do not think bringing awareness of my child’s existence to light serves to protect them, but rather do the opposite.”

“We have Bear Island. It’s forebearers supported me, and one of them protected you. Perhaps it is an indication that this is where we should make our home. We have isolation from the North and every other kingdom. We can build a home. Home is the one thing all three of us want, and we can have it, as we want it. No rules except the ones we choose to make and abide by.” Jon declares. Sansa can see Daenerys deliberating Jon’s words in her head.

Sansa can concede that Bear Island resides in the North, and it is not too far to sail to from the Frozen Shore, but would moving to this island mean the end of her work. Could she continue the task that she had begun with the Free Folk and Lord Manderly? Would she be accepting of giving it up? Her answers to those questions came fairly quick. 

“If we decided to make Bear Island our home, then you must know that I do not intend to give up the task of working with the Free Folk and the North. It will require travel to Frozen Shore, and perhaps to other places necessitating that I may be gone for periods of time. I will not give this up, not to stay on the island to maintain a home. That might have been what I would have once wanted, but I am no longer that person.” Blue eyes bore into the dark stormy eyes of Jon Snow, she waited for his response. He eyes shifted before him, calculating her wants, but it was Daenerys who spoke. 

“So, you want to make Bear Island your home, but you will travel as need dictates.”

“Yes.”

“What of your children...should you have any?” Violet eyes voice a question unspoken.

“What of them? They will have me and their father. They will have...relatives, will they not.” She tilts her head to Daenerys’s waist. “Siblings can take much of your time during your childhood...they will have that.” Breathing deeply to clear her head, she continues, “I may not travel as much when they are younger, when they are older they may hap will travel with me.”

“Will you both accept the children being raised as siblings?” Jon inquired.

“That will require much effort from us to foster.” The former Queen of the Seven Kingdoms murmurs.

Needing to move, Sansa rises to stand before the hearth, pacing as she speaks. “Much less than you think. Before the truth came out Jon always had been given the love as a brother from..._most_ of his siblings, and that was without the support of my mother. My father acknowledged him, and so did my siblings.”

Jon agreed. She wonders if he was thinking of his own experience as well. “I will acknowledge all my children. I will parent them. There will be no doubt of who their father is. I have no need for heirs, there is no competition to breed dissention between them in that regard. Should any of our children want to continue the legacy that is to be established on the island, then any and all are welcome to continue it...as a family. However, I will never demand that of them, and neither should you.” Jon hands a cup of water for Daenerys, she moves to stand near the hearth, the woman looking a bit peaked. 

“So, we move to Bear Island. We build our family there. Jon will manage the training and the wards, Sansa will have her work, and that has me doing what...running the keep. I am not against that; it’s just I have...limited experience in that area.” A voiced concern tumbles out of Daenerys. 

“I will go fortify the island with some men. I can get the keep ready for your arrivals.” Jon proposes.

Sansa wonders about Daenerys history for a moment. Living on the streets, to accepting the generosity of others, to having a Hand and servants...never had she been formally trained to establish and maintain her own home. That is something Sansa is well-versed in doing...and for her own security...and that of her family, she will. “I must settle some affairs in Frozen Shore, then return to the island. I can make sure the keep is ready...for Jon see things in military terms. I doubt there will be much comfort for a newborn babe in such a scenario. There will be much that we will need to ensure the babe’s survival during these harsher Winter months. I also want to certify my own comforts considering we may find ourselves stranded on the island for a long stretch of time. Though anything you can secure before I arrive would be prudent...and appreciated.”

Once again time finds the women facing each other, with Jon once again bridged between them, just as they were positioned before. “So, we agree to all reside on Bear Island, to build a home there...together.” Jon reaches for her hand, holding it firm...yet gently, he clarifies as his eyes hold a shining lit as he glances from one woman to another. 

“We talk about what does or does not work as challenges arise...and we make decisions together...as a unit.” Sansa voice a loud whisper against the silence of the chamber, still in slight disbelief that she is willing to commit to this crossing, but not feeling as appalled by the idea as she should be. 

“We define the rules and laws that allow us to live as we wish.” Daenerys states while with one hand she rubs over the outline, of what looks to be like a foot, that her babe has pressed against her, while Jon holds on to the other.

“Aye” Sansa can feel Jon tighten his grip on hers as he pulls their fingers closer to lay a gentle kiss on the top of their hands. He looks to them, his look expectant, his breath stilled.

Sansa looks at Daenerys as the woman stares at her. She thinks that they are both so different, and yet they find themselves loving the same man...for many of the same reasons, she thinks. Though she knows she shouldn’t care, Sansa is aware that they both are taking a leap into an _ uncommon type of life_ that could fail, and that scares her less than the thought that it could thrive. She knows these thoughts run through her mind, as she knows Daenerys’s particular doubts run thorough hers. Several beats pass before they tilt their heads in recognition of their unspoken conversation. They turn back to Jon as they both utter their shared agreement. 

_"Yes."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am bracing for impact. I'm ready...but before you let loose, don't forget you have 2 epilogues to get through.
> 
> Also there is a bit of a surprise that will come out in both epilogues, that I wonder if people would have suspected. I tried to leave bread crumbs along the way, but no one has made any reference to it, so I wonder if people will be prepared for it...yikes!


End file.
